


December Fanfic Challenge

by makesomelove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, December Fanfic Challenge, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesomelove/pseuds/makesomelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>31 ficlets written for <a href="http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/post/103219532098/we-dont-know-about-you-but-were-all-a-buzz-with">this December Fanfic Challenge</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December Fanfic Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing stories for this challenge. I'm basically putting them on AO3 for archival purposes so I can stare at all the pretty things I've made all in a row. All stories can be found on my tumblr as well with [pairings and themes listed](http://rubdown.tumblr.com/tagged/decfanfic). Thanks to coldbam, valencing, and rlottery for supporting and encouraging me and always giving me ideas. HAPPY 2015!!!

**December 1**

Harry comes over and, without even so much as a hello, blindfolds Niall. 

"What are you doing?" Niall says. He laughs nervously, how he always does when Harry gets an idea. 

"It’s a surprise," Harry says. Niall hears his closet door open and shut, then his arm is being shoved inside a sleeve. Harry realizes it’s the wrong sleeve halfway through and has to start over. It feels like Niall’s warmest winter coat. 

"I don’t like where this is going," Niall says. 

"You don’t know where it’s going," Harry says. "Just let it go." 

They sing “Let It Go” in unison, which distracts Niall enough to allow Harry to put his hands inside some mittens. 

"What are these for?" Niall says, flexing his fingers. He can’t see and now he’s wearing restrictive clothing indoors. He’s sweating from being hot and from being nervous. 

"So you don’t scratch me," Harry says. Niall hisses and paws blindly at whatever part of Harry is in front of him. Judging by the yelp Harry emits, it’s Harry’s junk. 

Finally, Harry leads Niall to a chair and sits him down. He pulls off Niall’s slippers and stuffs his feet into some snug boots. 

"What are these?" Niall says. "Some of your fancy boots?" He goes to lift the blindfold a bit, but Harry slaps at his hand. 

"No peeking," Harry says. He forces a hat onto Niall’s head past his eyes to reinforce the blindfold. "I told you, it’s a surprise." 

"I don’t like your surprises," Niall says. Harry laces up the boots tight, and Niall’s ankles throb. "They end in pain." 

"You’ll like this one," Harry says. He takes Niall’s hand and helps him to his feet. The boots Harry’s got him in are high up, like heels or platforms or something, and Niall has difficulty balancing especially with his sight being cut off. 

Harry guides him a few steps and only lets him bump into one thing for his own amusement. Suddenly the cold, winter air rushes across Niall’s body, the sound of the sliding door to his backyard opening and closing behind them. 

"Okay," Harry says, sounding giddy as someone can in two syllables. His gloved fingers fold Niall’s hat up just enough to still cover his ears but to be able to take the blindfold off. "Ta-da!" 

Niall’s entire backyard is covered in a thick, sparkling sheet of ice. He looks down and realizes the boots Harry put on him are actually ice skates. 

"Oh, no," Niall says. 

"I came round last night and turned the hose on," Harry says, practically radiating excitement. "I tested it out before I came and got you. It’s nice and solid." 

"You flooded my backyard to make an ice rink?" Niall says. 

Harry nods. 

"Why?" Niall says. 

"So we could ice skate," Harry says. 

Niall sighs. “Come on, then.” 

Harry helps Niall out onto the ice. It’s a bit uneven and lumpy where it formed over the grass in spots, but there’s a good area in the center that’s smooth and clean. 

"We could’ve just gone to a real ice rink," Niall says. He todders unsteadily onto the ice, his knees threatening to give out at the possibility of slipping. 

"And fall and break your ass where everyone can see and take pictures?" Harry says. 

He’s right; Niall would’ve hated that. He’d much rather embarrass himself at home with Harry than anything else. 

They skate side by side in short, back and forth bursts a few times, Harry giving Niall tips as if he’s some sort of expert. Then Harry comes up behind Niall and puts his hands on his waist. 

"Don’t you date fucking lift me," Niall says. Harry listens to him, though he seems a bit disappointed. He just skates with Niall like a dance, one hand on his hip and the other holding Niall’s mittened hand. 

"I’m cold," Harry says. They stop skating for a minute while Harry somehow manages to slip his hands inside Niall’s mittens alongside Niall’s own hands. Niall has to stand with his arms stuck at his sides to keep both their hands in the mittens, but he can’t say he minds much when Harry’s hand warms up and intertwines with his. 

Niall turns his head back slightly so he can meet Harry’s eyes. 

"You’re right, I do like this," Niall says. 

"Told you," Harry says, the steam of his breath puffing out against Niall’s ear. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, and his eyes are bright as fresh snow. 

"Ruined my fucking lawn, though," Niall says. He wiggles his hands out of the mittens and pushes off Harry to get away. It unbalances Harry and he falls back on his ass with a loud ‘oof’.

"Heyyy," Harry says as Niall glides off, laughing all the way. 

**December 2**

"Can we leave?" Liam says for the twenty-third time, trailing after a swift-moving, determined Louis. The request falls on deaf ears for the twenty-third time. 

Louis holds the sprig of mistletoe up over the head of Nicholas Grimshaw. He does so with some difficulty, being that Louis is a head shorter than Nicholas Grimshaw. 

"You’ve already done me," Nicholas says, appalled at being trapped by Louis’ whims yet again. 

"I know," Louis says with a pointy-tooth grin that curls up to his ears. "You have to do it again because you hate it so much." 

Nicholas ducks down and allows Louis to peck him on the lips, grimacing all the while and making a show of wiping his mouth when it’s over. Liam sighs, then sighs again as they continue moving through the house. 

They’ve been at Mikey Clifford’s Parentless Pre-Holiday Party for hours now and Louis has kissed everyone from Gemma to Niall to Eleanor at least once and some twice if no one new has arrived by the time he’s made his rounds. Nobody refuses him; nobody ever does. Liam doesn’t know if Louis possesses some sort of subliminal tone in his voice that commands devotion, or if he has dirt on everyone and is in a constant state of blackmailing. Either way, Louis brought out the mistletoe as soon as their coats were off and he’s been plowing through the merry-making masses ever since, forcing a kiss from everyone he lays his eyes on. 

Everyone, of course, but Liam. Liam doesn’t even know why he came along. He put on his nicest jacket and an extra spritz of cologne, hoping for something that’d never happen for him. All he wants is to leave. 

"Zaynie!" Louis says delightedly as they come across Zayn, whose lips are currently glued to Perrie’s without the help of any mistletoe whatsoever. Zayn glances out the corner of his eye, spots Louis and his mistletoe, and glides from Perrie’s mouth to Louis’ in one smooth motion. Louis hums pleasantly and they move along again, leaving Zayn to Perrie once more. 

The kitchen in the next stop, and luckily they’re the only ones who occupy it. 

"You should wash your mouth out," Liam says. He ladles up a bit of punch, but gets a whiff of it - high alcohol content. He goes for a glass of tap water instead. 

"Never," Louis says, ladling himself a cup of the punch. "I am inhaling the Christmas spirit of every person I kiss. Soon I will become Christmas. I was born Christmas. I am Christmas." 

"You’re something," Liam says, but it comes out more affectionate than he meant. 

"Looks like everyone’s got it the Tommo Way tonight," Louis says. 

"True," Liam says. "I don’t think there’s a person left at our school or any school within a two-town radius you haven’t kissed." 

"There is one," Louis says with a sly smile. 

He pulls out the mistletoe and stalks towards Liam, until Liam is backed up against the fridge. Magnets holding family photos and party invitiations slide to the floor and scatter. Liam awkwardly bends to pick them up, but ends up face to face with Louis and the mistletoe. 

"Don’t kiss me," Liam says, heart thudding terribly in his chest. 

"What?" Louis says loudly, as if he hadn’t heard. 

"Don’t kiss me," Liam says again. He doesn’t know why he’s saying it, exactly. Louis has kissed everyone, and Liam’s just another everyone to kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. Liam might like it to. 

"Don’t what?" Louis says. 

"Kiss me," Liam shouts. 

"All right, you don’t have to shout," Louis says, and he kisses Liam. Their noses squash together, but then Louis tilts his head and Liam tilts his head and it’s perfect, Louis’ mouth Liam’s mouth and Louis’ sharp teeth on Liam’s soft lip. 

"Can we leave?" Liam says. His eyes flutter open to find Louis looking up at him through his eyelashes, dare Liam say, almost shyly. 

"Yeah, let’s get out of there," Louis says. 

**December 3**

Niall is just finishing setting out his party nibbles - grilled pigs in a blanket, grilled aubergine bruschetta, grilled figs, olives (not grilled), and spiced sugar popcorn (cooked over the grill, though placed directly on the grill) - when the doorbell rings. 

"Coming!" Niall shouts, sliding in his stocking feet to the door. 

It seems his friends have carpooled, or at least organized to arrive all at once to get the evening on and over with as quickly as possible, as every one of them is at the door at the same time. They greet each other in a rising chorus of one another’s names - 

"Niall!" 

"Louis!"

"Niall!" 

"Zayn!

"Niall!" 

"Harry!"

"Niall!" 

\- until everyone is thoroughly greeted. Niall takes everyone’s coats and lays them on the bed in the guest room and tells them to help themselves. 

"So what’s the story this year?" Louis says. He takes half a bottle of Grand Marnier and drinks straight from it.

"Let me guess," Zayn says. "Okay, so like, a widow with an adorable kid moves back home to her small town because of like, financial troubles. Everything is going fine when all of a sudden, her cold-hearted businessman ex-boyfriend from secondary school rolls in and announces he’s buying out all the mom-and-pop shops to bulldoze them and put in a factory that makes something like, totally useless, like left socks." 

"Left socks are not useless," Harry says, popping olives onto each of his fingertips and wiggling his hands in front of Louis’ face. Louis slaps his hand and ends up with an olive jammed down the neck of his Grand Marnier bottle. 

"But then like, the widow lady and her kid, who has a lisp and a weird haircut, they get to him and he has a change of heart," Zayn continues. "Like, the guy helps them cut down their Christmas tree and he falls in love with them, so he stops his plans and loses out on millions and saves the town and everyone is happy." 

"That’s the one they aired two years ago," Niall says a bit too fast to mask how well he knows which one Zayn’s describing. Built for Two, starring Sophia Smith and Liam Payne. 

The year before that was Lest We Forget It’s Christmas, starring Liam Payne as a soldier that helps an old man fix his car on the side of the road on Christmas Eve, and it turns out the soldier is the man’s son who died sixty years ago in the war. Niall didn’t care much for that one; he cried and all, but he prefers the ones with a romantic plotline. Last year’s movie was Castle Christmas, with Liam Payne as a blue-collar man in a small town whose fiancee surprises him by announcing she’s been a princess this whole time, and Liam Payne trying to get through the holidays at a castle with a disapproving royal family. That was one of Niall’s favorites. It had an extended shirtless scene of Liam Payne getting into the shower after chopping wood for a fire. 

"It’s all the same thing, just with slightly different shapes," Louis says. "Like different pasta noodles with the same sauce on." 

"Some are curved, some are spiral," Harry says. "Some are long, some are tubes." 

"Some have hairy chests and beards and are called Liam Payne," Zayn says, tickling Niall in his side with a bruschetta. 

Niall blushes from his head to his knees, then blushes more for blushing. It’s no secret Niall has had a thing - okay, a crush on - okay, an obsession with Liam Payne for years, every since he was a teenager. Liam Payne was a teenager too, just a gangly kid starting out on the soaps and working his way up to bit parts on bigger shows. Now he makes a holiday movie every year, and Niall always hosts a viewing party for it. 

"Shh, it’s starting!" Harry says. 

Zayn scrambles to dim the lights. Louis passes around what’s left of his Grand Marnier with olive in and they all lay snacks on their chests and settle in on the sofa to watch. 

"What’s this one about then?" Louis says. "Or do you like to be completely surprised and aroused?" 

A dog appears on screen. 

"Oh nooo!" Everyone shrieks in unison, flailing in agony. 

Niall does know what happens in this one since he read the reviews before it aired. Something about Liam Payne being a widower and his dog runs away and of course he has an adorable child, and a beautiful single woman finds the dog, and it goes on from there. Sometimes Niall wishes the romantic interest could be a man, though he’s sure that’s a fat chance. Usually he’s just satisfied with his the places his imagination takes him: the muscular, perfectly-stubbled Liam Payne whisking him off to buy a tree or helping him decorate his house with lights, and then kissing him by a festive, roaring fire, mouth tasting of hot chocolate and snow. 

Liam Payne appears on screen. Harry, Louis, and Zayn all go ‘oooh!’ and whistle and clap while Niall’s heart beats frantically. He knows it’s a bit crazy for a grown man to entertain wild fantasies of being in a relationship with a fictional character, or a person who plays many fictional characters. He’s never met Liam Payne and he never will. But Niall can’t help but feel a little in love whenever he sees Liam. 

**December 4**

"Someone’s at the window for you," Niall says, gently jostling Zayn from slumber with a shake to the shoulder. 

"What time is it?" Zayn says. His eyes creak open slowly like a door with rusty, sleep-crusted hinges. It’s times like these he regrets living in a first floor residence, but then he thinks about having to couldn’t jump out a second story window and breaking his legs during a fire and all is right again. 

"Half two," Niall says. 

Zayn mentally shrugs. He’s already missed one and a half of his classes, so there’s really no point in going to the third. He pulls on a jumper and unlocks the window. It sticks a bit, but he manages to pry it open after a minute. His efforts result in his receiving a snowball square in the face. 

"First snow!" Louis crows, running around in a circle as best he can manage in the knee-deep snow covering the ground. 

"Shit," Zayn says. He scrambles to find his boots and yanks them on his feet, mind whirring frantically. 

"Didn’t you read the forecast?" Louis shrieks maniacally from outside. "First snow! First snow! First snow!" 

"You’ll get yours!" Zayn shouts out the window, though he’s not sure how yet. Louis being up and at it already and having known the snow was coming before Zayn gives him an edge. He probably already has twenty things planned out, and Zayn hadn’t even been thinking of it. 

First Snow, as it is colloquially referred to by those in the know, is a game Louis and Zayn made up during the first snow they were friends. It started off as a nice, normal snowball fight between a group of them on campus, and quickly escalated to an elaborate prank back-and-forth to see how far either of them would go to hit the other with snow. 

The rules are: they take turns, no double throwing. They are allowed to ask for help in getting the snow to hit the other party, but must be directly involved in the throwing itself. They have from the time the first snow falls to the time the first snow melts to attack. The person who throws last before the snow is completely gone is declared winner. Anything is fair, so long as nobody dies. 

When Zayn left home for uni, it was the first time he ever slept anywhere besides his parents’ house longer than one night. He was terrified he wouldn’t make any friends, and even more terrified to try and make new friends. Until one day, Louis found him. Louis was a package deal with everyone he knew, which was everyone, which meant Zayn soon knew everyone, too. 

First Snow always comes at the most perfect time, when the stress and anxiety of final exams threatens to crush Zayn and his homesickness right before the winter holidays is at its peak. It helps especially when he misses his little sisters, with whom he’d always play in the snow. He told Louis that First Snow makes him feel like he’s back at home with his sisters. 

"Oh, I’m like a sister to you, am I?" Louis said, humping Zayn’s head furiously and making sure his dick got as close to Zayn as possible without it being inside him. 

It’s something he and Louis alone share and that nobody else understands quite as fully as the two of them do. Zayn likes that he shares a special connection with Louis that no one except could possibly ever have. 

~*~ 

It is known that Louis uses the same shower every single day. Zayn is pretty sure they had to rewrite a clause in some charter somewhere declaring it so. He’s witnessed kids in their first years getting tossed out naked and cold in the middle of their showers just because they were using Louis’ stall. Creatures of habit make vulnerable prey, Zayn thinks, as he hands the bucket to Liam to string up on the ceiling. 

Louis waltzes in soon after, they finish whistling ‘Winter Wonderland’ with a towel tucked round his waist. Zayn and Liam watched from around the corner, Liam barely able to contain his excitement and Zayn with his eyes peeled to make sure everything goes according to plan. This was done a bit on the fly, but it should work just fine. 

Louis closes the curtain behind him. When he turns the shower on, an icy cascade of snowballs dumps on him from above. The scream he tries to muffle is music to Zayn’s ears. 

Zayn and Liam rip open Louis’ shower curtain. He stands there, shoulders up around his ears and stiff-spined while his body recovers from the shock. 

"Liam, how could you?" Louis says. 

"How could I not?" Liam says. "Zayn’s afraid of ladders. He needed my help." 

Zayn laughs and slaps Louis on the bare bum before Louis has a chance to turn the shower spray on them. 

~*~ 

Zayn wakes in the middle of the night to find that his cheek has gone completely numb. He’s either had a stroke, or - 

Someone’s replaced his beautiful goose down pillow, the one he uses for only the coldest weeks of winter then carefully stories in a vacuum-sealed bag the rest of the year, with a ratty old pillowcase completely packed full of hard, cold, slightly melting snowballs. Just then his phone lights up, again and again. Louis has sent him a series of photographs of Harry and Niall helping him lift Zayn up and replace his warm pillow with the snow one. He really has to learn how to be a lighter sleeper. 

Where’s my fuckin pillow? Zayn texts him. 

Don’t worry, it’s safe, Louis texts back with a photo of himself sleeping on the pillow. 

~*~ 

"Professor Grimshaw," Zayn says, huffing after running to get to class early. He holds a snowball out in his hand. "If I give you this snowball, will you throw it at Louis Tomlinson? I’ll do anything. I’ll help you with lab stuff, or whatever, anything. Just please." 

Professor Grimshaw immediately bursts out, “I’ll give you five points extra credit if you let me.” 

Zayn pulls the snowball back a little. “Only five?” 

"Ten," Professor Grimshaw says, practically salivating. "Ten points if you give me that snowball. Does it matter where it hits him?" 

Which is how Louis ends up with a half-melted snowball in his lap in the middle of their physics lecture. 

"Professor Grimshaw, may I leave?" Louis says, his sly eyes and sharp grin not leaving Zayn’s face. He’s obviously impressed, which warms Zayn’s heart. "I seem to have pissed myself." 

~*~ 

Louis fills every single stall toilet in the residence hall with snowballs so Zayn can’t take a shit in peace without not flushing or not walking across the campus to another building until the snowballs melt. Zayn retaliates by making an arrangement with the cafeteria that Louis can’t order any food that isn’t a snowball for lunch the next day. Louis gets Zayn again in the middle of the night by packing snowballs over his chest so Zayn wakes up with watery snow breasts and nipples that could cut glass. 

~*~ 

Louis is in the middle of trying to fashion a working bong out of packed snow in the common room when Zayn finds him. He’s burnt through all his ideas, but the first now is nearly melted by now. At this point he’s just looking to hit Louis and he doesn’t care how creative it is. 

Zayn silently sneaks up on the couch Louis is parked on. He means to shove the handful of snow he’s got down Louis’ pants, but the snow is like a slippery cube now as it sits in his palm, and it drops out of his hand and lands on Louis’ knee. Zayn’s hand, however still thinking of the original plan, manages to snake its way inside Louis’ sweatpants. 

The freezing palm of Zayn’s hand curves around Louis’ bare dick. Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth. At first Zayn thinks it’s because of the shock of the cold, until Louis’ dick obviously twitches and starts to harden. Zayn unashamedly fits his fingers around the dick in his hand - it feels nice, hot and comfortable in his grip. It’s Louis. 

"If you get me off, you win," Louis says, voice gone breathy and tight. 

"Really?" Zayn says. 

Louis whips around lightning fast and dumps the melting snow originally intended for his underwear down Zayn’s pants. 

"No," Louis screams as he flips over the back of the couch and runs away, shrieking laughter trailing behind him.

**December 5**

The extreme, unearthly chill penetrates all the layers Liam is wearing and he shivers almost more out of fear than being cold. On his bottom half, he’s got on short underwear, long underwear, jeans, two pairs of sweatpants, and thick snow pants. On the top he’s got a vest, two long sleeve shirts, one hoodie, a puffy insulated coat, scarf, ear muffs, a hat, and two pairs of gloves on his hands. He feels like he hasn’t got any knees or elbows for how freely he can move in all the layers. All five of them and the entire crew are dressed the same, except Harry, who’s probably got on double what everyone else has. 

"Remind me again why we agreed to do an outdoor show here in the middle of winter," Liam says. He peaks around the curtain and looks out at the crowd. 

"Technically it’s not even winter yet," Niall says, pressing a hot water bottle to his face. It sticks to his icy skin a little when he pulls it away. 

"The record for coldest gig ever played," Zayn says. He’s walking around gracefully as if he’s always always wearing twelve layers of clothing. Louis is having a harder time of it, toddling back and forth trying to keep his blood flowing. 

"It’s not worth it," Louis says pathetically. "This place shouldn’t exist." 

While it’s true Winnipeg isn’t the most exciting city they’ve ever been to, it certainly isn’t the worst. The main attraction seems to be some sort of hill made of garbage, and the streets are full of wet and frozen over sand, but the fans seem great at least. Despite the horrid conditions - negative temperatures and several feet of snow on the ground - they’re playing a sold out show to a huge number of excited fans. He just hopes nobody cries today or else their noses will freeze and snap off. 

"It’s not so bad," Liam says, though he can’t feel anything anymore, so much so that he’s afraid he won’t have any emotions left by the time the night is over. "Has anyone seen Harry?" 

"He said he had to use the toilet," Zayn says. 

"Oh God," Liam says and goes back inside to find the bathroom. 

The rush of warm air in the backstage area hitting his face almost hurts him. His cheeks burn and tingle so hard he’s afraid they’ll never stop. Now that he’s thinking about it, he has to pee too. There’s no way he’d be able to get out of all these clothes in time before they have to perform, so he’ll just hold it. 

"Harry, you in here?" Liam says when he finds the bathroom. There’s no answer, and the door is unlocked, so he goes inside. 

Harry stands there with his hand inside his snow pants, sweatpants, jeans, long underwear, and short underwear. 

"Excuse me," Harry says. He turns his body slightly away, trying to hide what he’s doing, but that only makes it more clear to Liam that Harry is jerking off. 

"Umm," Liam says, unsure if he should stay or leave. 

"I had to pee really bad," Harry says, obviously irritated. "And I couldn’t get all these clothes off." 

"So you decided to just get yourself off?" Liam says. His voice breaks embarrassingly when he says it. Jesus, it’s hot in all these clothes when he’s not outside. It’s like being in a sauna. 

"No, just hard," Harry says. "So I wouldn’t piss myself." 

"Oh," Liam says. "Makes sense."

Harry’s hand hasn’t stop moving. His hand is moving over his dick. He’s jerking off right in front of Liam, and even though Liam can’t see anything, it still feels strange to be watching. 

"Do you have to pee?" Harry says. He looks pointedly at Liam’s gloved hand, then nods at where Liam’s penis probably is under his layers. 

Liam bites his lip and nods. He takes his gloves off and somehow gets his hands down to grip his dick. He’s not sure what to focus on - staring at Harry seems improper, but he doesn’t know what else to think about to get himself hard. 

"What are you thinking about?" Liam says. 

"Things that turn me on," Harry says, breath hitching. "Thighs around my face. Eye contact. Motorcycles." 

"Yeah," Liam says, stifling a moan. He gives in and just lets himself look at Harry, what Harry looks like when he’s close to coming, how Harry sounds when he’s getting off. 

Harry doesn’t look away from Liam, either. Liam can’t believe how obscene two people jerking off next to each other while wearing so many clothes between them can be. 

"Okay," Harry says, stilling. He slowly extracts his hand from his bottom half, a wavery moan escaping his open mouth. "I’m hard enough." 

"Me too," Liam says. He forces himself to stop, though he desperately wants to keep going, wants to get off with Harry now. 

"If we keep going I’m gonna come, then we’ll really be in trouble," Harry says. 

Someone pounds on the door and shouts they’ve only got a minute before they have to go on. They stare at each other for a second, each holding their breaths. Then they get their gloves back on. 

"I hope nobody notices we’ve got giant boners," Liam says. 

Harry shrugs. “Let ‘em look.” 

**December 6**

Zayn, in his harried state, absent-mindedly sets all the forks down next to the knives. Perrie follows behind him calmly follows behind him and correctly places each table setting. 

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Zayn says. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands now they’re empty of forks, so he crosses his arms, trying to look tough and manly but really just hugging himself for reassurance. 

"It’s Christmas," Perrie says. "Our families should be together for Christmas, yeah?" 

She’s dressed and perfect already. All she has to do is take the curlers out of her hair and she’ll be ready. Zayn is still in his pajamas without a shirt on and he hasn’t even showered yet, too worried about everything running smoothly to bother with his appearance. He hopes the little gifts he got each of the girls is all right. He got them all the same thing - little brooches of their initials - and he doesn’t want them to come across as impersonal or anything. The way this goes tonight is so important to Zayn, like he’s going on three first dates even though he’s known these people for years by now. 

"They’ve been together before," Zayn says. 

"Like, proper like," Perrie says. God, she even smells good, the familiar scent of her perfume warm on her skin enough to calm Zayn’s nerves. "Awards ceremonies don’t count." 

"What about like, a seating chart?" Zayn says, mentally arranging. Louis can sit next to Perrie, and on the other side Jesy might be okay, but it could end up being a lethal combination of Louis and Jesy, so maybe they should sit across from each other where they can keep an eye on one another. 

"We can all sit wherever," Perrie says simple and matter-of-fact. 

"What if they - " Zayn says. 

"We’ll call the coppers on them" Perrie says. 

"Harry won’t eat - " Zayn says. 

"There’s enough food for everyone to enjoy at least one thing," Perrie says. 

"But - " 

"You worry too much, babe," Perrie says, running her nails lightly over Zayn’s back. "It’ll be fine." 

"I just want them to approve," Zayn says, deflating under the crushing weight of anticipated disapproval. Leigh-Anne, Jesy, and Jade are always very nice - to his face. He just wants to get on with them as well has he does with his boys. He wants them to all be one, big family, like the Brady Bunch or something. 

"If they don’t," Perrie says, "we’ll just have to elope." 

Zayn gulps at the thought. His mother would murder him. 

"Or break up," Perrie says, biting her lip to keep from grinning. She goes to turn on her heel and make a run for it, but her socks slip on the floor and Zayn catches her in a tickle-hug faster than she can get away. 

~*~ 

Louis, Liam, Harry, and Niall arrive before the girls have a chance to get their coats off. There are several awkward hellos. The room segregates almost naturally, one side of the lounge lined with Mixers and the other a wall of Directioners. Zayn and Perrie are left in the middle. 

Jesy is the one who stops forward to greet them first. She hugs each of the boys, pulling a face behind their backs as she goes down the line - sticking her tongue out and pretending to gag, rolling her eyes in the back of her head. Leigh-Anne and Jade titter behind their hands as they watch Jesy’s disgusted teasing. Zayn catches Perrie laughing too. She’s somehow migrated to the girl side of the room of her own accord, leaving him alone. But he’s not alone; he’s on the other side with his boys now. Damn it. 

"Pez," Zayn whispers disapprovingly, stepping closer to her side to grab her hand. 

"Sorry," Perrie says, stifling her smile. "Jesy just has such a funny face." 

~*~ 

"I brought a cheese plate," Jade says. 

She’s just walking backwards out the kitchen door and turning around when Harry walks by. Harry sneezes magnificently right on the platter in Jade’s hands. 

"Sorry," Harry says, wiping his nose with his bare hands. 

Jade has a smile frozen on her face, but she very obviously wishes to beat Harry about the head with the platter. It seems like a nice, solid platter, too. It’d definitely do some damage. 

"It’s okay," Jade says through her clenched, smiling teeth. 

"Ooh, cheese plate," Liam says, coming in from the next room. He begins shoving pieces of cheese in his mouth indiscriminately. "I’m starving."

"Harry sneezed all over that," Zayn tells him. 

Liam shrugs, just as Zayn suspected he would, then continues eating regardless. 

"Ugh," Jade says. She gives Zayn of all people the stink-eye and hands the plate to Liam to take care of. 

~*~ 

While Zayn is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, he leaves Perrie to try to get the separate crowds to mingle. So far it’s been like some sort of school dance where nobody wants to be there. Louis’ scratchy lilt floats across the room, and Perrie’s voice answers. It warms Zayn’s heart that at least them two are all right with each other. 

Suddenly there’s a loud smacking sound, followed by sharp gasps from everyone, then silence. Zayn peaks his head in to see what’s happened now. Niall is stood there holding a hand to his cheek while Leigh-Anne stomps away. 

"He guessed my bra size!" Leigh-Anne says furiously. Zayn is on the receiving end of Leigh’s dirty look like he’s the one who did it. 

"She told me to!" Niall sputters. "She said, ‘hey, do you want to guess my bra size?’ So I did!" 

That starts a bit of a shouting match, everyone yelling over each other to voice their opinion of what happened. Leigh-Anne winks across the room at Jade. Jade gives her a thumbs up. 

"Dinner is served," Perrie says firmly over the noise. She’s behind Zayn - he hadn’t even noticed her going into the kitchen - and is carrying four platters of food up her arms. She’s got that look in her eye that means she’s going to kill anyone who doesn’t obey her, the one Zayn thrills at when it’s directed at anyone but him. "Everyone sit." 

~*~ 

The food keeps everything quiet and nice for a while. It’s so nice for such a long stretch of time that Zayn doesn’t regret hosting the whole ordeal for the first time this evening. 

"This chicken is delicious, Pez," Jade says. "What’d you do to it?" 

"Ask Zayn, he did most of the cooking," Perrie says. She gazes lovingly at Zayn, who’s sure he gazes just as lovingly back. 

"I - " Zayn begins, but he’s interrupted by Louis screeching, "Payno, think fast!" 

Louis flings a spoonful of mashed potatoes across the table at Liam. They miss Liam entirely and splat messily into Jesy’s cleavage. 

For the second time that night everyone gasps. Harry and Niall duck down and hide under the table. Jade, Leigh-Anne, Jesy, and even Perrie all give Zayn the nastiest look, as if he’s in control of Louis at all times. 

Jesy stands up serenely and walks round the table to stand behind Louis. Then she picks up the gravy boat off the table and pours it all over the top of Louis’ head. 

"Food fight!" Louis says. He’s got a handful of mixed veg at the ready and is about to toss it when Perrie speaks up. 

"Don’t you fucking dare," she says. Zayn gets a rush to the head from how aroused he is, though he knows it’s inappropriate given the timing. "Everyone sit down and eat. This is supposed to be a nice family thing and it fucking will be or else." 

Louis delicately wipes at the gravy cascading down his face with the corner of his napkin. Jesy scoops the potatoes out of her tits and wipes them on her own napkin. Slowly but surely everyone picks up their forks and begin eating again. 

"The chicken is really good, Zayn," Liam says. 

~*~ 

Once the wine starts flowing it’s a much less hostile environment. Some might say too un-hostile. Liam and Jade are engaged in some sort of spirited debate about how goats can get so high up mountains without any climbing gear, while Leigh-Anne, Harry, Jesy, and Niall play a game of dirty charades. 

"Fucking," Leigh calls out ferociously as Harry humps Niall’s back. "Fucking. You’re fucking him. You’re fucking his ass. Fucking in the ass. Ass fucking, for fuck’s sake! You’re fucking him right in the ass!" 

Harry just keeps shaking his head as Niall pleads with his eyes for her to guess correctly and soon. 

Zayn and Perrie watch it all from the comfort of a chair off to the side. She settles down in his lap, her neck smelling slightly of gravy with a perfume undertone, and they sigh happily in unison. Their brothers and their sisters, their families, all as one. What a Christmas miracle, and they pulled it off together. 

"We make a good team," Zayn says, kissing her sweet gravy neck and silently thanking the universe that he has her. 

"Yeah, we do," Perrie says. 

"The correct answer was dry humping," Harry says as Leigh’s timer runs out. 

"God bless us, everyone," Niall says.

**December 7**

Harry hums a few bars of ‘Santa Baby’ to himself as he makes himself look busy. Unfortunately the tree they got is a real one, sticky pine needles literally the floor and poking harshly into his bare ass every time he accidentally bumps into it. It also aggravates his allergies, giving him a slightly red nose. Lou was very pleased she didn’t have to work hard to make him look in character. 

After the tree has four or five ornaments hung on it, Harry’s moves on to hanging the stockings like the script says. There’s a tiny baby one, a normal sized one, and a gigantic one. He improvises a bit and caresses the really big one, trying to make it seem like he’s gazing at the skies for his wish to come true. 

"Ho, ho, ho," a sultry voice calls out. 

Zayn enters from the right rather than through the chimney in full Santa garb, or a more like a youthful, rebellious Santa who’s run off to become a go-go boy. His belly is all lean muscle rather than a bowl full of jelly, and his beard is dark and kempt. Harry must admit, Santa is looking mighty fine. 

"You’ve been very naughty, Harry," Zayn says, his tone gentle yet smug. Zayn’s one of the best actors Harry’s ever worked with; he just hopes the rest is good. It is, if the stories he’s heard are true. 

"I tried to be good, Santa," Harry says The white t-shirt that barely covers the top of his bum rides up and reveals his already-fluffed cock.

"I’ve got loads of toys and goodies in my sack for you," Zayn says. He swings Harry arounnd and presses him up against the fireplace. "You want a stocking stuffer? Hmm?" 

"Oh, Santa," Harry wines. "I hung this big stocking especially for you. Can you fill it?" 

"I’ll stuff your stocking full," Zayn grunts, yanking on Harry’s hair and swirling his tongue around Harry’s ear. 

"Yeah," Harry moans, arching his back so his bum sticks out. Zayn runs a fur-gloved hand over it, then gives it a little slap. Harry moans again, begging please. 

"First we have to take a ride in Santa’s sleigh," Zayn says. He undoes the drawstring of his Santa trousers and lets them fall to the floor. His cock is flushed red and practically glowing, if Harry says so himself, but that may just be the holiday spirit catching. 

"Oh, Santa," Harry says. "Take me for a ride!" 

"Now Screamer! Now Sucker! Now Fucker and Rimmer!" Zayn recites passionately. "On, Cockslut! On, Twinky! On Sexy and Jizzer!" 

Harry strips off his t-shirt so he’s bare naked and walks over to the sleigh they’ve got set up with plastic reindeer set up in front of it. If he’s being honest, he’s a bit disappointed they didn’t spring for real reindeer, though he guesses that could’ve gotten a bit weird. He doesn’t want to destroy an innocent reindeer’s innocence, after all. 

"But do you recall," Zayn says, sing-songy now, "the sluttiest reindeer of all?" 

Harry points at himself, all shy and virtuous, and mouths, ‘me?’ 

"Cut!" The director calls. "That was great, boys. Take a rest while we set up the next scene." 

Harry pulls on a robe and Zayn yanks up his trousers and they go over to join some of the crew behind the cameras to take a peek at how it’s looking so far. The next set is the North Pole, where the pole is a giant dick. The backdrop is all colorful candy and fake fluffy snow and buff naked guys painted all white like snowmen jerking themselves off in the background. Harry is completely in love with the whole idea. Stocking Stufferz 27 is sure to be even better than the 26 that came before it. 

"This doesn’t make any sense," Zayn sighs. "But the money’s fucking fantastic." 

"Too true," Harry agrees. 

**December 8**

Niall, Bressie, and Laura are the last ones conscious, if you can call it that. Eoghan is snoring away on the sofa, taking up the whole fucking thing, so Niall sat on him awhile ago and hasn’t been able to get himself back up and moving since. 

Everyone else is asleep in Niall’s bed or gone home. His fingers are numb from playing ‘I Saw Three Ships’ on demand for sing-alongs all evening, but he could keep going if everyone hadn’t quit on him. He loves when the crew get together like this, especially for holidays, but the time goes by too fast. It’s been hours but it feels like minutes. 

"What’s with your tree?" Laura says, gesturing with a shoe. Something sloshes out of the shoe and onto the floor. Niall hopes it isn’t his shoe. 

"What about it?" Niall says. He’s proud of his little tree. It’s sat on top his table and it’s decorated with ornaments he made when he was little and a couple novelty ones he’s picked up on the road and a One Direction bulb that his mum bought for him. 

"It’s only the size of Bressie’s cock," Laura says. She sniffs the shoe, makes a face, and drops it. "Which isn’t bad for a cock, but for a tree?" 

Niall laughs, but it trails off awkwardly as he thinks about it. His tree is probably like, 45 centimeters tall. Surely Bressie’s cock must be smaller than that. 

Bressie tells her to fuck off. He’s currently going round the room stuffing trash into a bag, wrapping paper from their gift exchange and empty plastic cups and dirty paper plates. Niall told him he didn’t have to, but Bressie insisted on helping clean up. Niall did all the cooking and the hosting and everything, so he wanted to give back. 

Bressie pauses at the edge of the sofa and sets the trash bag on the floor, then he stuffs what’s sticking out of Eoghan’s legs in the bag and lets them stay there. 

"I’ll finish taking out the trash when it wakes up," Bressie says, settling in on the arm of the sofa next to Niall. He puts his arm around Niall’s shoulder, casual and easy. 

"Bressie’s the size of a real tree," Laura says, her eyes sparkling treacherously, or perhaps just overflowing with alcohol. 

"Ah, yeah," Niall says. He ducks out from under Bressie arm to stand. Eoghan brought some "Should decorate him then, I reckon." 

Bressie stands too. “Should I - like this?” He sticks his arms up over his head in a triangle, like the A in YMCA. 

Niall reaches up and poses Bressie how he wants him, pretending to fluff his branches by tickling him. Bressie wiggles a bit, not wanting to show how ticklish he really is, but he goes pliant under Niall’s hands and lets him guide his limbs where Niall wants. He ends up with his arms down his sides, hands sticking out, and his legs together to make a tree trunk. 

There’s a strand of green garland woven with holly on Niall’s mantel. He rips that down and starts at Bressie’s knees, winding it around his body upwards and tucking it around his shoulder like a sash. 

"Feel like Miss Universe," Bressie says. "Now it just needs a star on top." 

Niall looks around for something that’d fit on Bressie’s head. Burning candle - probably not a good idea, but would look cool. Plastic cup - probably full of cigarette butts and spit. He’s too distracted trying to find something when Bressie bends down in front of him, fits his hands underneath Niall’s thighs, and lifts him up on his back. 

"You’re a star," Bressie says. "You can be my star." 

Niall’s heart swoops as he wraps his arms loosely around Bressie’s neck to hang on. Niall likes the sound of that, of being Bressie’s, of Bressie thinking of Niall as being his. He doesn’t quite know how to put it in a way that they could both understand. Bressie is so careful with him and he doesn’t have to be. 

"How’s this for a tree?" Niall says. They both look to Laura for approval, but she’s fallen asleep as well, so they’re performing this ridiculous thing for no one. 

"Right, chief," Bressie says. He digs his fingers into Niall’s thighs to secure him and sets him back down. ”Nice one. Really great craic.” 

"Right," Niall says. 

Bressie pats Niall’s back with his big hand, and the pat turns into sort of a genial rubbing. They stand there, Bressie wrapped like a gift in garland and Niall flushed and pink and feeling young and so lucky. He tries not to think about how big Bressie’s cock really is. 

Bressie clears his throat as if he can hear Niall’s thoughts and subtly takes his hand off Niall. He keeps the garland on as they work on tidying up a bit more. 

**December 9**

From the very start of this weekend stay, things get weird. First off, Bobby kisses Harry on the cheek. Bobby is an affectionate person towards his sons and his own close friends, always has been, but he doesn’t just go around kissing Niall’s friends. Maybe that’s the difference this time; he’s got to remember to stop thinking of Harry as nothing more than a friend. 

Harry seems delighted that he’s made it on Bobby Horan’s list of kissable people. As Bobby leads them inside, Harry turns to Niall smiles dazedly, mouthing ‘oh my god’ at him. 

Bobby invited them over to have a family dinner during their break. It’s the first time he’s brought Harry now they’re dating, and the first time he’s brought home anyone he’s dating at all. 

"Are you sure we’re not imposing, Bobby?" Harry says, going inside and leaving Niall with their bags. He has no idea what Harry’s brought, but whatever it is weighs a ton and hurts his back as he struggles to get it in. 

"Not at all," Bobby says. "Wouldn’t want you boys to have to stay at another hotel during the holidays!" 

"Oh, you’ve put up new photos!" Harry says. 

While Harry asks endless questions about each picture up on the wall, and Bobby answers them enthusiastically, Niall carries their luggage to Niall’s old room and closes the door. While he is excited to be home and see his dad, he’s a bit nervous as well. Bobby and Harry have always gotten along just fine, but that was when Harry was Niall’s mate, almost like a friend at school. He doesn’t know how Bobby will feel seeing them together, like as a couple. 

Niall comes out of his room after a few minutes when he hears raucous laughter out in the lounge. Bobby and Harry have got their arms around each other shoulder’s like old drinking buddies and are wiping away tears of mirth from their eyes. 

"It’s basically - the same size - now," Harry wheezes through his laughter, which causes Bobby to laugh even harder until he chokes and coughs. 

"What are you looking at?" Niall says, smiling tentatively. He guesses he had nothing to worry about. 

Harry points at a photo in the album Bobby and he are perusing. It’s a picture of Niall as a baby in the tub, back when it was normal for people to take photos of their kids in the nude. He blushes furiously as he realizes what Harry and Bobby had been referring to. 

"Actually, it’s probably a little bit bigger now," Harry says thoughtfully. He looks as if he’s going to rip Niall’s jeans open now to compare. 

Niall slams the photo album shut. Harry and Bobby clear their throats and try to stop giggling, like two schoolboys who have been acting up in the library. Great, now he’s the bad guy. If only they would learn to have fun when it’s not as his expense, he wouldn’t have to be so mean. 

"Can I get you boys something to eat?" Bobby says, digging his elbow into Harry’s side to get him to shut up. 

~*~ 

After Bobby’s gone to bed for the night, Niall relents and lets Harry fool around with him a little bit. They’re making out on the couch with the telly muted until Harry gets frisky and starts palming at Niall’s ass. 

"Nothing below the waist," Niall says, pulling Harry’s hands up to rest on his face. 

Harry kisses his way down Niall’s neck. Niall tilts his head back to allow Harry better access, and Harry sucks at the hollow of his throat until Niall’s sure he’ll bruise. He’s just about to reconsider his below the waist policy when a floorboard creaks. 

Niall looks up to see Bobby staring at them. Instead of the anger or disgust or disappointed Niall expects to see on his face, Bobby seems absolutely elated.

"Bless," Bobby says, placing his hand over his heart. "I’m so happy you boys are finally together. After all the things Niall’s told me - " 

"Bobby," Niall warns harshly. There were so many nights Niall would call Bobby and tell him a story about how Harry did this or Harry said that, and Bobby would always faux-casually mention how often Niall said Harry’s name. In reality Bobby probably knew this was coming before Niall did. 

Harry doesn’t seem to care that Bobby is watching them dry hump each other and continues licking Niall’s neck. 

"Oh, don’t mind me," Bobby says, finally figuring out he’s not wanted here at this time and tip-toeing away. "Just getting a drink and I’ll be out of your hair." 

Harry’s hands roam back to Niall’s ass, but for some reason Niall is no longer in the mood. 

"Nothing below the waist," Niall says. 

"Nothing below the waist," Harry repeats sadly. 

~*~ 

Harry is exiting the bathroom, hair still dripping and muscles flexing wet in the morning light, when Niall stumbles awake. He’s also laughing to himself insanely. 

"What’s so funny?" Niall says suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. He wonders what god awful thing Bobby’s exposed to Harry now to make him laugh like this. 

"Oh, you’re up," Harry says. He pulls Niall close and kisses him, getting Niall’s face all damp with his hair. 

"So are you," Niall says. He looks both ways before lightly gripping Harry’s dick, already hard, through the towel. 

"Yeah," Harry says, then he starts up laughing again. "It was hilarious. Like, okay, I went to get in the shower, but it was already running. It was all like, steamy though, right, like it’s been on for a long time. I thought you were in there, because sometimes you like to get up early and take really long showers. And I’m like, a little morning rub-a-dub-dub sounds really great, right?" 

"Oh no," Niall says, backing away in horror at every word that comes out of Harry’s mouth. 

"So I like, take all my clothes off," Harry continues, laughter bubbling up in him as he speaks. "And I sneak all quiet and fling the curtain open." 

"You saw Bobby naked," Niall says flatly. 

"Well," Harry says. "It look me a long time to figure out it wasn’t you." 

Niall frowns. “How long?” 

"Long enough to put my dick on his ass," Harry says, bursting out with a bark of laughter. He covers his mouth to try to keep it in, but Niall barely notices the laughter anymore. His mind is a tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel is naked Harry with his dick pressed up against his naked father’s back. 

"You tried - to fuck my father - in the ass?" Niall says, disbelief stalling every other word. 

Harry starts to explain further when Bobby comes out of the bathroom, wearing an identical towel to Harry’s. Niall braces himself for the awkward silence, or the yelling, or the kicking out. Instead, Bobby starts laughing too. He and Harry grip each other and double over, barely able to stand for how hard they’re laughing. 

"Jesus Christ," Niall says. 

~*~ 

A heavenly smell wafts throughout the house by the time Niall is done in the tub. He soaked for an hour to clean his body, only because he cannot clean his mind of the image of Harry and Bobby together in the shower. Nobody is in the lounge, so he goes to the kitchen to see if he can find out what’s cooking. 

Bobby is bent over, his arms reaching into the stove to take out the ham. Harry walks in from the backyard carrying a grocery bag. He sets it down on the kitchen table and gets a sly look on his face when he spots Bobby at the oven. Before Niall gets a word out, Harry is behind Bobby and squeezing his has with both hands. 

"No," Niall says in horror. 

"Who’s that?" Is all Bobby says, as if it could be Niall popping round to play with his dad’s bum. 

Harry turns to Niall, horrified. “I thought it was you.” 

"How does this keep happening?" Niall says, almost to himself. He clutches his head and paces around madly, trying not to think about how his ass is apparently in the same condition as his dad’s. Either his ass isn’t as good as he thought it was, or his dad has a really good ass. 

"Oh, Harry, it’s you," Bobby says. "We have to stop meeting like this." 

Niall goes to his room and sits in the quiet for a while. God, they should’ve just stayed at a hotel like he wanted. Somehow he knew something like this would happen, maybe not quite this, but something that would make Niall want to die in a hole. 

"Niall," Harry says, knocking softly at the door. "Dinner is ready." 

"I’m not hungry," Niall says. 

Harry comes in, but has the good grace to look sorry about it. “You know I love your ass the most.” 

"Doesn’t seem that way," Niall sniffs. 

"I’ll show you right now," Harry says. "I’ll do it in front of Bobby if it’ll make you feel better." 

"It wouldn’t," Niall says. 

"All right, well," Harry says, coming to sit beside Niall on the bed. He wraps his arms around Niall and kisses his temple sweetly, and Niall feels less hostile already. "I do love your ass. And the person attached to it, which is you." 

Niall sighs. “Fine. But we’re never having dinner here again.” 

"What about - " Harry says. 

"Never again," Niall says. 

~*~ 

As Bobby is carving the ham, Harry comes up behind him with the bottle of champagne he went out for earlier. He opens it and the cork pops off and hits Bobby in the back. 

"Bit like this morning, huh?" Bobby says with a chuckle. 

"Oh, yeah," Harry says. He grabs Bobby at the waist and mimes fucking him from behind, laughing all the while. Each hump results in Bobby and Harry shrieking that much louder and giddier. It goes on for so long that Niall isn’t sure Harry didn’t actually wind up fucking his dad in the ass in the shower. 

Niall can’t take anymore. He folds his napkin up on his plate, stands up, and silently goes to his room to lie down forever, like he should have done long ago.

**December 10**

It’s late by the time they get back to Liam’s hotel room, so late the sun is in the sky at the same time as the moon. Liam invited Paddy out drinking with the lads, like he always does. Paddy thinks it’s very kind of him, if a little misplaced, though Paddy could say the same about some of his own feelings sometimes. 

"Paddy," Liam slurs out, stumbling as he takes off his shoes and jacket. "Y’know what?" 

"What’s that?" Paddy says, attentive in a way a parent would be of their young child. 

Liam winds up getting stuck in the sleeves of his jacket and Paddy helps him the rest of the way. Then the trousers come off, and the shirt, until he’s in nothing but his pants. Paddy, fully clothed and sober, looks away as much as he can. He thinks Liam thinks Paddy is as far gone as he is, and will therefore give Liam whatever he wants, but Paddy made a show of holding one drink all night. It wasn’t even liquor, it was cranberry juice. 

"I want to fill the hot tub with cocoa," Liam says, eyes squinting shut in that smile of his he gets when he’s very excited. It sounds like a completely different topic, but Paddy knows it’s what he meant to say all along. 

"You’ll probably have to pay to have it cleaned up after," Paddy says. 

Liam pouts and folds his hands together pleadingly. 

"Guess I’m going out for cocoa then," Paddy sighs and buttons his coat. 

~*~ 

Paddy’s hoping by the time he gets back Liam will have just fallen asleep and they’ll have a surplus of hot chocolate mix on hand. He’s not so lucky; Liam’s out on the balcony revving up the hot tub when he gets back in. 

"I only got six, so it probably won’t be very strong," Paddy says. 

Liam looks at him like he’s the crazy one right now “We’re not going to drink it, are we?” 

“We aren’t going to do anything,” Paddy says. “This is all your idea.” 

Liam strips off his underwear right there on the patio, like he’s a normal person nobody would want to sell photographs of. It’s dark enough nobody would see, probably, unless they were looking very hard. Paddy is certain someone is looking very hard, so he maneuvers himself to the outside of the balcony and subtly opens his jacket to cover as much of Liam’s nudity as he can. 

Liam lowers himself slowly into the hot tub, his breath puffing white in the chilly outside air. His naked skin steams when he lifts his arm out of the water to rest it behind his head. 

"Sure you don’t want to try this?" Liam says. 

If he’s being honest with himself, Paddy does want to have a laugh with Liam, dump a load of hot chocolate powder in a hot tub and soak in there with him. Sometimes he wishes they could just be mates with nothing else between them. Technically, Paddy is Liam’s employee, though he doesn’t treat him as such, not ever. His job is to protect Liam from whatever he needs protecting from. 

Even if that means protecting him from Paddy’s illicit heart. He’s not sure if it comes with the job or what, if every bodyguard is a little in love with those they serve, but it’s true for him. It’s mixed up in his head: security, friend, father, brother. He’s seen Liam cry, wracked with homesick sobs, heartbroken and furious. He’s felt proud to be able to bring him out of it, like maybe he’s as close to Liam as any of the other lads. It’s hard not to feel something for someone you’ve seen so much of. 

"Nah," Paddy says, shaking his head. "And smell like chocolate for a week?" 

"Come on, it’ll be nice," Liam says. He splashes some water towards Paddy, but not hard enough to actually reach him. 

"This is for you," Paddy says. "It’s your Christmas present, so don’t expect anything else from me." 

Paddy rips open the packets of cocoa powder and dumps it into the hot tub. Liam is transfixed as the jets churn it up and the water turns chocolatey brown and foamy. Then he looks at at Paddy and laughs, the sky glowing behind him. 

"One more thing," Paddy says. 

"I thought you said not to expect anything else," Liam says in a teasing way. The sun is up enough that Paddy can see the chocolate staining Liam’s skin, coated lightly up to his nipples. 

Paddy opens the bag of marshmallows and tosses those in as well. The mess and the chewing out they’ll get is worth the delight Liam exudes from the very core of his soul at being allowed to float in a giant mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows for Christmas. 

**December 11**

Louis opens the card attached to the gorgeously wrapped present first. The bow is a bit soggy from being left outside a few hours, but it’s still very pretty, all shiny gold paper and delicate lace ribbon. He wonders who it could possibly be from until he reads the card and remembers. 

TO: LOUIS TOMLINSON

FROM: YOUR SECRET SANTA 

Ah, yes. He’d put his name the last time they’d stopped in at the BBC station to do a sort of British (and Irish) celebrity gift exchange. The Santas are supposed to be revealed in some televised thing for charity, and if you don’t send a gift you have to donate to your giftee’s charity of choice. Louis saw ‘charity’ and signed up. He gave his name and home address and forgot all about it. He never sent a present so he hopes whoever he drew picks a good charity. 

The box is light, but when he shakes it, whatever’s inside makes heavy, whomping sound. He wrestles with the ribbon for a bit - his mum and sisters have instilled in him to preserve ribbon at whatever cost - until he gives up after ten seconds and attacks it with scissors. Then he has to get through the wrapping itself, which is thick like wallpaper and completely unrippable. After that is the miles of tape over each crack and corner of the box. Eventually Louis just stabs at it repeatedly until there’s enough of a hole to get his fingers in and tear it apart. 

Inside is a big, sparkly, hot pink dildo. He picks it up and weighs it in his hand, letting it flop back and forth like a puppet. It’s a decent size, if a little tacky for something you’re going to stick up your bum. He holds it under his arm as he searches inside the box for anything else, a note or a clue to who could’ve possibly sent it. There’s nothing, not even packing peanuts. 

All he knows is he’s not going to be able to show this one off on telly. 

~*~ 

Louis shows up at the BBC studios for the charity thing and is one of the first people done through hair and makeup. Niall comes along, as he’s the only other one of the lads who signed up officially, though they’ve all donated. Louis is just idling around, chatting with people once in a while, when Nick Grimshaw steps up to him. 

"Hello, hello, hello," Nick says. "How’re you, Louis?" 

"Hello, Nick," Louis says, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you." 

Nick doesn’t shake his hand. “We’ve met before.” 

"Have we?" Louis says. He looks around Nick and hopes to see a familiar face to run towards and scream into, but it’s nothing but interns and production assistants milling about. 

"Yes, a few times, actually," Nick says. He examines his fingernails, all cool and nonchalant, then buffs them again his suit jacket. It’s a sick jacket, Louis must admit, bright pink and shiny. It reminds him of something, though he can’t put his finger on it. 

"Oh, right," Louis says. God, he’s bored. He hopes Niall gets out of hair and makeup soon so he’ll have someone to talk to. 

"Did you like your gift?" Nick blurts out, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. 

"What?" Louis says, realization sinking in. Everything makes sense now. The difficult wrapping, the generous gift, the jacket. It’s all falling into place. 

"The gift," Nick says. "For Secret Santa. Did you like it?" 

"The what?" Louis says, playing dumb, but so subtly and expertly nobody would ever notice, not even those closest to him. He wants to hear Nick say it. He widens his eyes innocently and opens his palm and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

"For Christ’s sake, man, it was a pink dildo," Nick says with a frustrated wave of his arms, spittle flying everywhere. 

"Oh, that," Louis says. "Bit small, actually. Was it a replica of your prick?" 

Nick grimaces and rolls his eyes. “I thought it was generous.” 

Louis shrugs. Nick gets called away to get mic’d up, but he turns back to fix Louis with a calculating stare that makes Louis’ adrenaline kick in, like he’s entering a fight to the death. 

**December 12**

"I’m bricking it," Louis says into the phone loudly because the mall is loud and he wants to be louder. The relentless jingling of Christmas music pounds at his skull until he can hardly think straight. 

"What?" Zayn says. 

The guy running the hair straightening kiosk steps in front of Louis and assaults him, waving a stick in front of his face and asking him what hair straightener he uses. “Fuck off!” 

"Me?" Zayn says. 

"No, not you," Louis says. "I’m shitting myself. I’ve no idea what to get Niall." 

"Where are you?" Zayn says. It’s then Louis notices the jingling is coming through the phone as well. 

"Outside of Beaverbrooks," Louis says. "Should I get him like, a pinky ring? Or is that too much? He’s not a mobster. Mobsters wear pinky rings." 

Someone taps him on the shoulder. He whips around, ready to fistfight the hair straightener guy if he has to, but it’s Zayn. They hang up their phones and pocket them. Zayn wiggles his fingers in front of Louis’ face, showing off his pinky ring and his tendency to not be a mobster.

"It’s probably too much," Zayn says. "You’ve been on what, three dates?" 

"Four," Louis says dreamily. Four perfect, lovely dates with Niall, and he’s drawing a complete blank. It’s like he’s learned nothing of what Niall is like at all. Niall loves food and music and Louis’ jokes, but there isn’t a tangible gift that could possibly translate into the warm, fuzzy feeling Louis gets when he thinks about Niall. 

"So, that should be enough info to pick something out for him, yeah?" Zayn says. They step onto the escalator, but Zayn ends up three steps below Louis because he always hesitates to psych himself up for the ride. 

"I don’t know," Louis says desperately, talking loudly enough so Zayn can hear him. The woman in front of him turns around, then glares at him when she realizes he wasn’t speaking to her. He glares back. "He’s like, the nicest person I’ve ever dated. I mean it. He’s so nice. I’m used to naughty people and naughty things." 

"So get him something nice," Zayn says, as if it’s that simple. Then he waggles his eyebrows. "Or something naughty." 

"I can’t," Louis says, walking a bit faster so he doesn’t have to look at Zayn. He doesn’t even know what store they walk into, but there are lots of expensive clothes. He quickly grabs a tacky sequins scarf and holds it up to Zayn’s chest. "You’d look lovely in this." 

"Why not?" Zayn says, not so easily distracted. Louis tries to run away, but he catches him. "Oh, don’t tell me." 

"We haven’t had sex yet," Louis blurts out right there in the shoe department. 

Zayn smiles and claps his hands together. “Well, there’s your present! Fuck his brains out!” 

A mother and child trying on shoes both shoot them dirty looks. Zayn and Louis shoot one right back at them. 

"Jesus, if you can’t deal with the public then you shouldn’t be out in it," Louis mutters. 

Then he spots it across the aisle: the perfect present. It’s almost like a spotlight shines on it and a chorus of angels sing. He realizes that’s just the Christmas music again and shakes his head. He shoves two people out of the way with his arms outstretched towards it, then holds it for dear life. 

"That’s nice," Zayn says, reaching out to feel the sleeve of the jumper. 

"It’s better than nice," Louis says, checking the price tag. "It’s £85." 

"Eh, so splurge a little," Zayn says. "He deserves something if you’re not going to fuck him." 

"Shut up," Louis says. He can’t stop stroking the jumper. It’s soft, but not too soft, and a little scratchy, but not too scratchy. It feels warm and cozy and it’s the prettiest light blue, just the best color to bring out Niall’s eyes. He can’t wait for Niall to wear it for him. 

~*~ 

Louis and Niall do their Christmas the weekend before the weekend before Christmas. The weekend before Christmas is Louis’ birthday party weekend, which he’s pumped about because he doesn’t have to worry about picking another bloody gift, only abour receiving. They haven’t known each other long enough to do a proper Christmas weekend with the family together, so two weeks before it is. 

Niall brings a gift box along with him. Louis loses his mind trying to guess what it could possibly be, what Niall thought to buy for him, if he bought anything at all or if he made it. Louis internally practices his delighted face if Niall made something for him, because he much prefers store-bought over thoughts that count. 

They’ve just finished eating - takeaway that Louis put on fancy plates and cheap wine he poured in fancy glasses - when Louis can’t stand it anymore. He takes Niall’s plate away by force, leaving Niall with a fork hovering over nothing, and announces it’s present time. 

"You didn’t have to get me anything," Niall says, sliding down to the floor. The floor is Louis’ favorite place to open presents, and he’s so happy Niall naturally feels the same way. 

"The chef at the restaurant I ordered out from made you dinner," Louis says, joining Niall on the floor and handing him his gift. Louis gets his ready on his lap, and they stare at each other. 

"At the same time?" Niall says with a serious look on his face. Louis nods. "Ready, set - "

Louis tears into his before Niall says ‘go’ and Niall screams that he’s cheating, but he laughs. There’s no ribbon to get through, just a clean simple wrapping paper and a box. Niall struggles a bit more to get through Louis’ wrapping, plus Louis had the headstart, so he gets his open first. 

What Louis finds inside confuses him. He double checks to make sure Niall is opening the right box, looking between his gift and what Niall is about to open. He takes the soft, scratchy, pretty blue jumper that cost £85 out and holds it up. A moment later, Niall is doing the same thing, doubling over with laughter. He laughs so hard he has to lie down, covering his face with the jumper. Louis laughs too, warm in his heart where a jumper can’t reach. 

"I thought it’d bring out your eyes," Niall says, still chuckling a bit through the jumper over his mouth. "I asked Liam and Harry both what I should get and they agreed this was perfect." 

"I thought the same thing," Louis says. He crawls over to lie beside Niall and pulls the jumper down and kisses him. 

**December 13**

"I’m no good at this," Liam says over and over to himself as he struggles. He showed up late, so the only spot left was the one between Harry and some mystery person who looks like they carved a snowman out of fucking marble. And when he says snowman he really means a snow man, like a full, muscular, male specimen with delicate features and tastefully hidden gentialia that belongs in a museum and not in a temporary form outside in the parking during the town’s annual snowman contest. 

"You’re doing great," Harry says. He’s placed three snowballs of the exact same size all in a row on the ground and is decorating it like a caterpillar or a hot dog or something.

Liam sticks the carrot nose in his snowman’s face. It falls off one second later. He tries again but it only causes the head to cave in on itself. Frustrated, he holds the carrot in his hand like a knife and just begins stabbing the body of his snowman and grunting like a maniac. 

"It’s no use," Liam says. "They’ll take one look at Michaelangelo’s snowman over here and bulldoze mine immediately. I have no chance of winning." 

"It’s not about winning," Louis calls out from his spot two spaces ahead. "It’s about fun." 

Louis has placed his carrot in the snowman’s pelvic region, giving in the appearance of having a fully erect penis. It also has very short arms and a sad face, probably because it will never be capable of reaching its erect penis with its tiny arms. 

"He’ll easily win at least second place for sure," Harry says. He continues sprinkling things over his snowballs. Now it’s vaguely got a face, and it looks a bit just like it’s a regular snowman only lying down on its back. Then he starts with the carrots - he just have a dozen extra than everyone else - and Liam is confused again. 

"I’m just not artsy," Liam says, resigned to live with his smashed-head nose-nose snowman and be happy with it. 

"Hello, boys," Zayn says, coming from seemingly out of nowhere. Liam calmly steps in front of his decrepit snowman to hide it from Zayn’s vision, but Zayn circles around to have a look anyway. 

"Um," Liam says. "It’s not finished." 

"It’s nice, Liam," Zayn says, biting his lip and seriously considering Liam’s hideous attempts at snow manipulation. Liam can’t help but notice Zayn’s lips are dry and chapped and in serious need of moisturizing. He wouldn’t have to have noticed if Zayn didn’t bring attention to it by biting it. 

"Is this one yours?" Liam says, pointing to the beautiful work of art next to his rubbish heap. "I should’ve known. It’s incredible." 

"Nah," Zayn says, smiling bashfully like he doesn’t know he’s the best. 

"Really," Liam says earnestly. "It’s a shame it’ll melt. It should be a permanent installation in the park." 

"Thank you," Zayn says. "I was gonna dump snow cone syrup on it and let everyone eat it when it’s over." 

"Sick," Liam says. 

~*~

Niall judges the snow men in almost record time. Zayn wins the blue ribbon and the prize money. Louis wins second place, just as Harry predicted. Liam and Harry each get participation ribbons. 

Liam watches Zayn accept his prize, his nose scrunched up in a smile that goes all the way to his glittering eyes. Zayn’s tongue nervously wets his bottom lip, but it isn’t enough. It’s still dry and cracked and it’s driving Liam insane. How can Zayn stand it, having such dry lips? Just looking at him makes Liam desperate to slather his own lips in lip palm. 

Liam digs in his pocket and comes up with his lip balm. He clutches it in his fist and marches up to Zayn. There’s a small crowd of people gathered around him, getting their pictures taken with him and his sculpture, so Liam has to wait. Once Zayn is alone, Liam holds out his fist in offering. 

Zayn hesitates for a moment before knocking his fist into Liam’s in an awkward fist bump. 

"No, sorry, I mean," Liam says, shaking his head. He opens his fist and offers Zayn the lip balm. 

Zayn stares at him like he doesn’t understand what Liam means at all. He licks his lips in a maddening way once more. Liam can’t take it; he uncapes the lip balm and rests his hand on Zayn’s cheek. Then, very gently, he smooths some over Zayn’s pink, pillowy lips, First the bottom, then the top, steady lines across. Zayn stays still and lets him. When Liam is through with this unhinged, compulsive display of misplaced and inappropriate care, Zayn doesn’t push him away. All he does is rub his lips together, then part them invitingly, his eyelids heavy. 

"Thanks," Zayn says. "I needed that." 

"Congratulations on your win," Liam says. He turns as he says it, already running away out of embarrassment. "It was well-deserved!" 

**December 14**

Harry sniffs around the tree like a hound dog. He’s literally sniffing, as if each gift gives off a specific odor and he’ll be able to tell what it is. His hands hover over a box, fingers wiggling and eyes closed, but he pulls away abruptly and goes on to the next one. 

This goes on for some time. Niall watch the entire thing from the comfort of the couch, legs propped up and drink resting on his stomach. He’s in no particular hurry, so he lets it go on until Harry will eventually get tired and give up. 

"There are tags, you know," Niall says helpfully. 

"Shh!" Harry spits out. "No hints." 

Niall shakes his head and takes a sip from his beer. Harry gropes a few more gifts before finally getting to the biggest one under the tree. 

"It’s this one," Harry says, facing Niall over his shoulder and rubbing his hands over the wrapping paper possessively. 

"You just happened to pick the biggest one," Niall says. He sets his beer down on the floor and gets up to play Santa, hauling the big gift from underneath the tree to the middle of the floor. 

"It’s mine, I know it is," Harry says. He smiles so excitedly that his tired, puffy eyelids much up like soft clay around his sparkling eyes. 

"Let’s see, let’s see," Niall says, pretending to scan the present for the tag. "Ah! It says here. To Niall, from Santa." 

"It does not," Harry shrieks, lifting his leg up into the air and kicking Niall in the shin. "That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Santa come like, this early? And drop off a present to you?" 

"Also Santa isn’t real," Niall says. "I’ve been Santa this whole time." 

"You’re not real?" Harry says widening his eyes in mock wonder. 

"Just open your present," Niall says. He’s got to admit, he’s pretty thrilled for Harry to see what Niall got him. It’s the loveliest gift he’s given to anyone in a long time. He put a lot of thought into it and he just really hopes Harry likes it as much as Niall thinks he will. 

Harry carefully picks open the tape at one end. He slides his fingers down the seam of the fold, popping each piece of tape and making sure not to rip the paper. Niall sighs; it’ll be another twenty minutes before Harry gets it open all the way. He does this with every wrapped present he receives, this insane ritual of opening it like it’s the most precious thing ever made. He lets Harry do it, even though it drives Niall crazy. It’s like when people try to get distracted toddlers to open presents but they’re more interested in rolling around on the floor. Niall’s fingers itch to just tear the paper, anxious for him to see what he got. Niall would rather give a present that’s not even wrapped, just skipping the whole surprise element altogether, but he knows that’s not fun for everyone. 

Finally the paper is all off and folded neatly beside Harry. Niall made sure the box didn’t have any tape on it at all, so as not to prolong the situation. The box is only to conceal the shape of the thing inside so as not to entirely give it away. 

"Oh, Niall," Harry says, peaking inside the box. "I hope this is what I think it is." 

Niall grins. “Me too.” 

Harry clicks open the case. His face falls. 

"It’s a Gibson Hummingbird," Niall says, reverent and joyous. He shoves Harry out of the way to take the guitar out and hold it up fully into the light. It’s quite a beautiful guitar, spruce and mahogany and a perfectly balanced tone. Maybe this is like the equivalent of getting your wife a bowling bowl when you’re the one who bowls, but he really does intend for Harry to play it. 

"It’s nice," Harry says, a bit sullen. 

"What?" Niall says. His heart drops at Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. "You don’t like it?

"No, I love it," Harry says, hesitation in his voice. 

"I even got it personalized. See, here?" He points at the little engraving - H.S. And a little carving of a hummingbird, just so he’d remember what it’s called. 

"I just thought it was something else," Harry says. 

"It was in a fucking guitar case," Niall says, getting heated now. "What else would you possibly think it was?" 

"Socks," Harry says. "I really wanted socks." 

Niall closes his eyes and counts to ten. He so deeply wants to smash this guitar on the floor and storm out, but he knows that’d be bad. 

"You wanted a guitar case full of socks," Niall says. 

Harry nods. 

"I’ll just take this back then," Niall says. 

"No!" Harry shouts. He clambors up from the floor and yanks the guitar out of Niall’s hands and holds it to his chest, the strings twanging hideously. "This is good too, Niall. This is great. I love it. Hummingbird, was it? I’m going to call it… Hummy." 

"You do that," Niall says, furiously gathering up wrapping paper to throw away and regretting ever being thoughtful.

"Come here," Harry says. "Thank you." 

He takes Niall’s face in the hand that isn’t gripping Hummy and strokes his thumb along Niall’s cheek. When he kisses Niall, sweet and grateful, the guitar lands on the floor and is momentarily forgotten. 

"Wait, what’d you get me?" Niall says, breaking apart. 

"Socks," Harry says. 

**December 15**

Louis leans close to the mirror and holds the flashlight close to the skin on his nose. 

"Tweezers," he says, holding out his hand palm up. 

Zayn dutifully passes Louis the tweezers. He watches in horror as Louis presses the tweezers hard into the tip of his nose, almost like he’s trying to pierce it. Then he switches course and scrapes it along the surface of his skin. 

"Got it," Louis says. He rubs at the red soreness his picking has created and drops the tweezers on the floor where they’ll never find them again. 

"What, exactly, did you get?" Zayn says. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You haven’t got any pores, so you’ve never had a blackhead. You’re a poreless freak. It’s ugly, actually, you shouldn’t even walk around in public. Everybody laughs at you. They say, ‘there goes that guy who - doesn’t have any - ’ okay. I don’t know what they say, because I don’t listen to it, because you’re my mate.” 

"I have pores," is how Zayn responds to this tirade, because he does. He even gets a spot once in a while. 

"You’re coming tonight, right?" Louis says. He moves with the frenetic urgency of a butterfly on fire, flitting from the mirror to the closet to hold clothes up to himself and then dump them on the floor when they don’t meet his expectations. 

"No," Zayn says. 

Louis pauses and turns to him menacingly. “Why not?” 

"I haven’t got a date," Zayn says, as casual as possible. It’s the truth; he didn’t ask anyone, of course, but nobody asked him either. There was one person, maybe, but of course he chickened out and couldn’t bring himself to ask, and of course he didn’t ask Zayn. It’s just a winter formal, it’s not like it’s the last dance of his school career or anything. It’ll be cold and they don’t play any good music and he won’t have any fun. 

Louis looks at him like he’s got an ass for a face. 

"I don’t like to dance," Zayn explains, hoping Louis doesn’t dwell on this. It’s honestly not a big deal. "The whole point of a dance is to dance, right? That’s why they call it a dance. Dancing." 

"No," Louis says. "The point of a dance is to go, have a laugh, fuck someone you’re in love with in a toilet or in a car, then go home." 

"I’m not in love with anyone," Zayn says. 

"Oh ho ho," Louis says, hands on his chest in surprise. "Oh, oh. Sure. Sure you’re not. Of course. What about - "

"I’m not in love with him," Zayn says. Louis drops it, either because Zayn is a good liar or because he knows he won’t get any further in this line of questioning. 

Liam arrives at Louis’ to pick him up. He looks like he wants to ask Zayn to join them, but Liam has sense to know better. Harry’s waiting in the car and starts honking the horn impatiently after ten seconds. 

"You sure you’ll be all right?" Louis says. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. He’s just planning on chilling in Louis’ room - his mum said it was okay - and sleeping until Louis comes back and falls on top of him. 

"Okay," Louis says. His fingers dart forward and snatch the last cigarette Zayn had behind his ear before running off, lighing it on the way and blowing a smoke kiss at Zayn before they’re speeding off on the snow-covered roads. 

"Be careful," Zayn yells after them. 

~*~ 

Louis has a decent record collection - it’s a lot of stuff Zayn wouldn’t normally listen to, old stuff like The Stone Roses, Pet Shop Boys, The Smiths. Zayn knows The Smiths are supposed to be sad, so he chooses that and puts it on, lays down on the bed and tries to fall asleep. It turns out The Smiths only make him feel angry, so he flips through Louis’ collection to try to find something he actually likes. 

Out the window in the beam of a street lamp, Zayn spots a single snowflake float down from the sky. It dances through the air almost as if it’s being dangled on a string just for him to watch, this one magical snowflake when he’s feeling the loneliest. In the distance he hears jingle bells. Feeling childish, he opens the window and looks to the sky, half-expecting to see a sleigh silhouetted in the moon. 

The bells, he realizes, are actually coming from the ground. A beautiful, bright red sleigh is dashing its way up the street, being pulled by an equally beautiful, woolly grey horse. Zayn initially gets the creeps from it, thinking it’s without a driver, but then he sees a figure at the front of the sleigh guiding it along. Whoever the ride is for is sure to be charmed. 

Zayn is just about to close the window and stop spying when the sleigh stops in front of Louis’ house and the driver steps down. 

"Zayn?" The person calls. 

Zayn hesitates, confused at why a person driving a horse-drawn sleigh would be asking for him. “Yeah?”

The driver is dressed in a long, black coat and a big, formal top hat. He removes the hat, revealing a mess of blonde hair. 

"Niall?" Zayn says, heart leaping into his throat. He doesn’t want to speak, but he forces himself to. "Are you here for Louis? He just left." 

"No," Niall says, a crooked smile blooming on his face, teeth shining in the dark. "Will you come down?" 

Zayn holds up a finger for him to hang on and shuts the window. He’s wearing trackies and a thin, worn Take That t-shirt that he’s pretty sure technically belongs to Louis’ mum. He frantically digs through the piles of clothes on Louis’ floor, hoping to come up with something immaculate and fancy, but then he gets worried Niall will just get tired of waiting a leave, so he throws on his leather jacket and shoes and runs down to the yard to meet him. 

"Okay," Zayn says, breath puffing in the chilly air. Suddenly he has no idea what to say, or why he’s even down here talking to Niall. 

"Hi," Niall says, taking a few steps towards Zayn. He’s still got his top hat in his hands and he’s turning it about in a nervous way. "Um, sorry to show up like this." 

"No, it’s fine. I wasn’t doing anything." Great, Zayn, just tell him you’re a loser outright. Everyone is at the dance but him and Niall knows it. 

The horse whinnies a little and shakes its head, and it reminds Zayn of Harry honking the horn impatiently. He can’t help but be drawn to it, and he’s suddenly next to it without remembering taking any steps. 

"She’s great, ain’t she?" Niall says. He reaches up and pets her on the nose, or whatever a horse’s nose is called. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. 

He puts out his hand too, but then he looks at Niall for permission. Zayn doesn’t know a lot about horses, but he thinks he knows that they can get spooked easy. Niall nods, so Zayn pets her neck gently. Niall smiles at him, eyes soft and wondering. 

"I came here to ask you to the dance," Niall blurts out. "Which I realize now is probably like, totally crazy. Like, just showing up with a horse with no prior notice and being like, come on!" 

Zayn had no idea this is where his night would lead. He feels like he’s inside a dream, and nothing is scary and nothing can hurt him, so he goes along with it. 

"I’d say yes," Zayn says. "But I’m not dressed for it." 

"No fairy godmother and sewing mice?" Niall says. 

"My mice have all gone to the dance already," Zayn says. 

"Here," Niall says. He steps in close and places his top hat on Zayn’s head. "Now you’re fancy." 

Zayn bows his head slightly in thanks. He allows Niall to take his hand and help him up into the sleigh. As Niall takes his place at the reigns, more snowflakes fall. They catch on Zayn’s eyelashes and on the tips of Niall’s hair and make everything sparkle. 

Zayn can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s being taken by horse-drawn sleigh to a dance by the boy he’s in love with. Not that Niall knows that, unless he’s particularly psychic. Zayn has to wonder why Niall is doing this, and for Zayn specifically. Maybe Niall’s got some feelings going on, too. 

"Where’d you learn to drive a horse or whatever?" Zayn says, talking a bit loudly over the clomp-crunch of the horse’s hooves. 

"Took some lessons," Niall says. "Want to try?" 

"Oh," Zayn says. 

Niall grab Zayn’s hands and pulls them forward, so they’re resting over Niall’s shoulders. Zayn has to press close to Niall’s back from where he is to be able to reach the reigns. He holds on to them, and Niall puts his hands over Zayn’s, and they drive together. 

"See?" Niall says, turning so his breath tickles Zayn’s chin. "You’re driving it now." 

"Yeah," Zayn says, and he can’t keep the smile off his face. "Thank you."

**December 16**

_T.,_

_Happy Christmas! I hope this letter finds you well. Confession: I never really understood what that phrase meant. Is that stupid of me? I always took it as, like, I hope the letter does a good job of finding you. It’s only now, as I’m writing the words down and sending them to you, that I see the other, probably correct meaning. I wish you to be well when the letter finds you, and truly, that is my wish._

_I am greatly looking forward to our exchanges this year, as much as I do every year. Perhaps I am looking forward to them more now than ever before, because it has become such a cherished Christmas tradition. The months leading up to this have come to seem vast and empty, and this month so bright and full. Attached to this letter you’ll find a box containing my first offering - a new recipe I got out of a book I found when Mum and I were going through the attic. The secret is to use a can of Coke in addition to all the sugar, flour, and chocolate chips. They aren’t good for you, but then again, what good cookie is? Please enjoy and tell me what you think whether you enjoy it or not._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_H._

~*~ 

They discovered the third day during their first year together in the cabin that the mail doesn’t have to come only once a day. Harry says ‘together’ and he thinks ‘together’ even though he knows technically that isn’t correct. He is in the cabin, and she is in the cabin, but they are never in it at the same time. Taylor has never told him where she is, and she says it’s probably not a good idea if he tells her where he is, like it’d probably mess with some cosmic force and cause the planet to consume itself and burst open. That was quite a beautiful letter; he keeps that one in his wallet. 

~*~

_H.,_

_Happy Christmas! Or as we say in the old country, Merry Christmas! Your wish came true! Your letter did an amazing job of finding me, and I am feeling equally as amazing. I’ve just started a fire - I mean - in the fireplace, not just for fun, and the cats are playing with the jingle bells on my socks, and I am enjoying a cookie from one of my dearest friends._

_First things first: the cookies were divine. I ate six of them to be sure, then six more after I was sure. I must say, when I first read your letter, I thought you said they had coke in them, and I was like, what?! But I re-read and now everything makes sense again. Very good recipe, you must send it to me or else._

_For you I have prepared something very special. I even went out and measured the dimensions of the mailbox to make sure it would fit. Meredith escaped behind me and I had to chase her through a foot of snow, then I had to re-do the measurements because I forgot to write them down the first time, but I did it! The icing is a mixture of powered sugar and lemon juice, and the cookie itself is a simple cream cheese sugar cookie. I hope you like it!_

_You know I always adore our Christmases. This is the most special time of year for me, and you only serve to make it even more special. Now make me more cookies!_

_T._

~*~ 

It started with a Christmas card addressed to Mom & Dad. Harry taped the envelope shut again, feeling horrible for tampering with someone else’s post, and put it back in the mailbox to be sent to the right place. The card kept coming back. Eventually, another card was attached: _Hi, I’m Taylor. Who is this?_

They figured it out together, through a rapid-fire series of notes. It was Taylor who sent a cookie first, she said just to see if she could. They found they could sent anything, as long as the mailbox was closed. The year after that, Harry spent a ridiculous amount of time out in the freezing cold, sticking his hand in the mailbox and waiting for her fingers to touch his. He thinks he’d have to chop his hand off and close the door on it for her to be able to touch him, and he doesn’t think she’d appreciate that. 

Harry doesn’t even know what she looks like. He’s cobbled together bits and pieces from her stories - she bumped her head on the light above the dining room table. Harry figured out the light above the dining room table is exactly 177 centimeters from the ground, which would mean Taylor is tall. Either that or she walks around in high heels inside, which she might. He’s never asked. One time he found a blonde hair baked into a particularly delicious batch of molasses cookies. He didn’t do anything creepy like keep it, but he added that to his image of her in his mind. Possibly tall, probably blonde, funny, friendly, warm, Christmas, home, far away. 

Taylor’s latest letter includes the biggest cookie he’s ever seen. It’s as big as the mailbox is, because it is the mailbox. She’s decorated it with sprinkles and steady pipes of icing, which give it a touch of whimsical flair, but it’s definitely their mailbox. In the center of the cookie she’s written, in beautiful, snow white script, _T & H._

~*~ 

_T.,_

_I am so relieved to hear my letters are good with directions and are able to find people in an efficient manner. I am also relieved to hear you feel amazing. You should feel how you are, which is of course, amazing._

_This cookie is your best work yet. It is almost too lovely to eat, and certainly too big to eat all in one sitting. I was going to only break a piece off and eat it when I thought of you, but then it would be gone by the time I was done writing this sentence._

_Please excuse the absence of any sustenance in the form of cookies with this letter. Consider this a placeholder for something better to come. I am knocked to the ground by your impressive, unparalleled baking skills and must take a few hours to recover and think of a way to impress you as you have impressed me._

_Watch this space,_

_H._

~*~ 

The reply is almost instantaneous. Harry is walking away and back to the cabin when the flag of the mailbox flicks down. It’s only a one line note, hastily scribbled and folded on a scrap piece of paper. 

~*~

_H.,_

_I don’t need to be impressed._

_T._

**December 17**

Harry rings at Ben’s door only a few minutes before sunset. He made sure to check what time sunset would be this evening so he’d have enough time, but of course he’s much later than he intended to be. This is his first proper Hanukkah where he’s celebrating with someone who actually celebrates it, and he wants everything to be nice. 

"Harry," Ben answers jovially. "So good to see you." 

"Happy Hanukkah," Harry says, allowing himself to be gathered into Ben’s arms for an embrace. Ben’s hand lingers on Harry’s lower back, and his cologne, something mature and woodsy, lingers in Harry’s nose. "I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the first night." 

"Nonsense," Ben says. He takes Harry’s coat and offers to drop Harry’s bag in the guest room. Ben advised Harry it might be smart to bring an overnight bag, just in case of inclement weather - rain turning into ice on the roads at the temperature drops, ice making for dangerous driving conditions, and so on. 

Harry retrieves the bottle from his bag before letting Ben take it. “I brought the Manischewitz.” 

"Perfect, Harry, thank you so much," Ben says. He gets out some wine glasses and pours them each a generous serving. "Cheers." 

“L’chaim,” Harry says and beams under Ben’s pleased smile. 

“L’chaim,” Ben replies, clinking his glass to Harry’s. “I was just getting ready to light the menorah.” 

"Oh, can I do it?" Harry says, not caring how overeager he seems. 

"Of course," Ben says. He strikes a match and kindles the center candle, then passes it over to Harry carefully, their fingers brushing. 

Harry can’t remember the prayers he’s supposed to recite, so he just mouths some words to himself and the two candles furthest to the right. When he’s done and places the center candle back where it belongs, he turns to find Ben staring at him with fuzzy eyes. 

"You know, this menorah belonged to my gran," Ben says. "Maybe one day, if you like, I can pass it on to you." 

"Oh, well, um," Harry says, unsure how to react. "That would be - " 

”No, of course, you’re right,” Ben shakes his head and his gaze comes back to the present. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from Harry’s face. “You’re just a pretty little shiksa.” 

Harry makes a mental note to look up ‘shiksa’ in his Hebrew dictionary when he gets home. 

~*~ 

"Oh, you made latkes," Harry says delightedly. 

"Yes, I just took them out of the pan before you arrived," Ben says. "They should still be warm. I made traditional, and well, I know how health-conscious you are, so I made some with sweet potatoes." 

Harry sniffs the air and hums. “Better try both.” 

Ben gets out a fork and a plate and serves two latkes up for Harry. Just before he hands them over, he pauses. 

"Close your eyes," Ben says. "Say if you can tell which is which." 

Harry obeys. The prongs of the fork press against his bottom lip and he opens his mouth wider, tongue sticking out like he’s at a doctor’s appointment saying ‘ah’. 

"That’s original flavor," Harry says, chewing thoughtfully and keeping his eyes shut. He opens his mouth for another bite. This time Ben feeds him with his fingers, this thumb against Harry’s chin. 

"That’s sweet," Harry says. He opens his eyes and Ben is staring at him red-faced, a sheen of sweat breaking out over his brow. 

"Very good," Ben says. He clears his throat and serves up some latkes for himself. 

~*~ 

Ben, Harry noticed as soon as he arrived, is dressed immaculately, a deep blue three-piece suit, pocket watch, cuff links that match his tie and socks. He’s even got his shoes on in the house. Harry feels under-dressed and silly, with his loose, unbuttoned shirt, and his ripped jeans. He took his shoes off at the door earlier, wanting to be a good house guest, but worrying that his feet stink. Ben doesn’t say if they do or not, so Harry relaxes. 

They lit in the lounge and play dreidel for a bit. After only a couple spins, Harry is bored out of his mind. Ben doesn’t keep chocolate in his house and he made Harry stop singing ‘The Dreidel Song’ after only five minutes. He doesn’t want to be rude, though, so he takes another turn. 

"What say we make this interesting?" Ben says, getting up to refill their glasses again. He settles down down on the sofa and leaves Harry sitting cross-legged on the floor near his feet. "Let me hear you say the letters again, so I know you’ll understand the rules." 

Harry sits up straight and folds his fingers in his lap, proud to recite what he knows for Ben. Harry practiced for an hour before he came over here, saying the words over and over in the mirror to make sure he got everything right. He did it with his fingers in his mouth, too, just to make him extra proficient. He told Ben this, hoping it’d make Ben see how much he cares about this tradition, but Ben only closed his eyes and didn’t speak for several long moments. 

"Fingers in," Ben says. "I want to see how good you are." 

Harry nods and dutifully slips two fingers in his mouth and presses them in as far as they’ll go without him gagging. Ben watches him, breathing in harsh through his nose, nostrils flaring. He’s red and sweaty again. He holds up the dreidel and points at a side with a letter written on it. 

“Nun,” Harry starts. He’s a bit garbled, so he speaks louder and slower for the next ones, Ben pointing at each. “Gimel. Hei. Shin.” 

"Very good," Ben says. 

He explains the rules: when the dreidel lands on nun, they take a drink. When it lands on hei, they remove a piece of clothing from the top half of their body, and when it lands on gimel, they remove a piece of clothing from the bottom half of their body. Shin means they get to tell the other person what to take off. 

"Strip dreidel?" Harry says. It’s only now he notices how the discrepancies in their manner of dress could be a problem. Harry has far fewer pieces of clothing to remove than Ben does, which means he’ll be naked in a matter of no time. He has to wonder if this was Ben’s plan all along. 

"We don’t have to," Ben says. "But it could be fun." 

~*~ 

Ben’s up first. The dreidel lands on hei. He removes a single cuff link. 

"Heyyy," Harry whines. "You have to take both off. That’s a set. There’s two of them. Nobody wears one cuff link." 

Ben concedes and removes his other cuff link, letting it clang on the table beside him. He’s still on the sofa while Harry remains on the floor, almost between Ben’s knees. 

Harry spins and lands on shin. Ben rubs his hands together and chuckles, obviously pleased the game has gone his way. Harry pouts, but that’s the way the dreidel falls. 

"Take off your trousers," Ben says firmly. 

Harry stands and unzips his jeans. He’s only going to pull them off and sit back down, but he notices Ben’s wild eyes on him. He takes it slow, sliding the fabric down his hips, revealing his underwear inch by inch, letting them drop down a bit to show off the hair he’s got on his lower belly. 

By the time they call it quits, Ben is still in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, only missing his jacket, shoes, and socks. Harry, clearly on the losing side after a brief lucky streak of nun and shin, is left only in his shirt. Ben let him keep it on for a turn, as long as he unbuttoned it all the way and left it open. Harry is half-hard and completely unable to hide it, the hem of his shirt brushing over his cock as he gets on his knees and crawls closer to Ben on the sofa. 

"Mazal tov," Harry says, his hands on either of Ben’s thighs. 

"Yes," Ben says, spreading his legs. "Happy Hanukkah to me."

**December 18**

"Okay," Eleanor says, holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder and digging through the drawers to find a cork screw. "Yes. That’s fine. Louis, really, it’s all right. No, I know. I understand. It isn’t your fault. Yes. I know you can’t control the weather. I never said you could. Oh, you said you could and now you can’t? It’s fine. We’ll be okay." 

She continues this stream of pacifying words and phrases, her face contorting into bored annoyance, eyes rolling and tongue lolling out of her mouth like she’s gagging. Sophia laughs from her position on the couch, understanding completely. She just got off the phone with a similar call from Liam. He and Louis’ flight is delayed, and they won’t be able to make it, at least not today. 

The four of them made holiday plans to spend a few days in this gorgeous cabin in the mountains in France. The boys were doing a show, so they said they’d fly out separate and meet them when they were finished. Sophia and Eleanor arrived earlier this morning. That’s when the snow started. Lovely, fluffy flakes quickly turned to a complete white-out. Eleanor opened the door a little while ago and it’s piled up knee-deep already, and it doesn’t look like it’s supposed to stop. 

Sophia is disappointed, but she can’t complain. There’s a fridge full of food, a cabinet full of wine and champagne, a telly with every channel, and a roaring fire. She loves Eleanor, too. In fact, she’s excited to have Eleanor to herself for a while without anyone else around. 

Eleanor finally hangs up. Before she opens the champagne, she slides her arms into her shirt, wiggling to take her bra off through her sleeve. 

"Won’t be needing that," Eleanor says, dropping it to the kitchen floor carelessly. "You don’t mind my tits being free, do you?" 

Sophia shakes her head. She’d like to do the same, throw her clothes on the floor all loosey-goosey and free-tit around the place, but she actually likes wearing a bra. When Eleanor opens up the champagne, there’s a minimal explosion, but some of it gets on her shirt. Sophia tries not to look at her nipples, tries not to just plain wonder what they look like bare. 

One day, Sophia was a person. The next day, she was Liam’s girlfriend. The day after that, she was all sorts of nasty words she’s never even thought to say to anyone, least of all herself. Eleanor is the one who helped her through it all. She’s become one of Sophia’s best friends, like a sister really. Sophia was the new kid at school and Eleanor saw her and took her under her wing. 

Eleanor gives Sophia her glass and sits close on the sofa. It’s a big sofa - the entire cabin is huge, so if they wanted, they could be so far apart from each other they would think they were alone. Instead, Sophia snuggles closer and rests her head on Eleanor’s shoulder. 

"I can’t believe I showered and put on makeup for this," Eleanor says. She lifts her arm and puts it around Sophia’s shoulder, so Sophia readjusts and settles back in on Eleanor’s chest. "We could’ve slept an hour longer." 

Sophia nods, cheek rubbing on the soft, thin fabric of Eleanor’s shirt. “You smell nice.” 

Eleanor presses her mouth to the top of Sophia’s head, and Sophia’s heart pounds at the thought that Eleanor might be kissing her. Eleanor is only sniffing, though, some of Sophia’s hair moving in the intake of her breath.

"So do you," Eleanor says. She idly combs her fingers through Sophia’s hair. "Your hair always smells so good. And it’s so soft." 

Sophia doesn’t know what the rules are. Every aspect of their lives is strange and jumbled. Sometimes it gets lonely, and when Sophia feels the loneliest, it’s Eleanor she goes to, because she’s the only one who understands. Sophia wants Eleanor in the most basic, human way, a bittersweet craving deep in her gut and on the tip of her tongue. Sometimes she thinks Eleanor wants her too. 

"El," Sophia says, lifting her head up. 

"Yeah, Soph," Eleanor says. She puts her finger under Sophia’s chin and Sophia swears she sees it, that desire in her eyes. 

Sophia blinks, and the desire is still there. She knows it’s reflected in her own eyes. 

"You’ve got the most beautiful mouth," Eleanor says. Her finger runs up Sophia’s chin to gently stroke her bottom lip. "Your lips are like, fuckable." 

Sophia blushes, but she doesn’t look away. Eleanor does that all the time, casually dropping compliments that would seem obscene coming from any of Sophia’s other friends, but from Eleanor only make her skin feel tight and her blood hot. She wants to say that her lips are fuckable, and why don’t you see just how much, but she can’t bring herself to. It’s a line she doesn’t know how to cross without being tugged along full force. 

"Thank you," Sophia says, voice small. 

Eleanor removes her finger and leans down then. Her lips on Sophia’s are soft, and her hair comes down in a curtain and tickles Sophia’s cheeks. Sophia doesn’t kiss back until Eleanor’s mouth opens, her tongue poking out and licking at the seam of Sophia’s closed lips. Eleanor backs off first, and Sophia chases her, eyes closed, until they find one another again. 

"Babe," Eleanor says, hands on Sophia’s face, trying to pull them apart. Sophia feels frantic, like they have to do something now or never. "It’s okay. We have time." 

"Right," Sophia says, breathing heavily. "What next?" 

"Well," Eleanor says with a smirk. "Let’s start by getting your bra off and see where it goes from there." 

**December 19**

The piercing sound of Teddy howling jolts Zayn awake. Moonlight is slanting through the windows. Teddy’s shadow on the floor makes him look like he’s ten feet tall, though he weighs less than ten pounds. 

"Teddy," Zayn mumbles. "Shut up. Go to sleep." 

The window howls against the walls differently here than in the city, and there are creatures outside that neither of them have ever seen anywhere else in person. Teddy isn’t too skittish; he’s had to learn not to be when they’re out there. Zayn had to learn the same as him. When he first told his friends he was going to winter in the mountains, they looked at him like he’d said he was going to take a long trip to hell. That was three years ago, and now he comes here every winter and loves every second of it. 

Teddy takes a few moments, but eventually he calms down, settling on growling out the window at whatever is bothering him. Zayn is sure there’s nothing out there. The bears are all hibernating, and so are the marmots and the squirrels. There are supposed to be wolves out here, but Zayn’s never seen one. Teddy is probably growling at a low tree branch. 

"Shh," Zayn says. Teddy hops off the cushy chair up against the window, his little collar jingling, and whines on the floor until Zayn scoops him up and puts him on the bed. He digs at the blankets until Zayn lifts them up and he can burrow under them. 

~*~ 

He’s been here for five weeks already, which he can’t believe, because it feels like it’s been years and years. His beard has come in nicely from what he can tell, looking at his reflection in the bread knife running his hands over it to get out crumbs. Time doesn’t work the same here as it does when he’s in his real life. Out there, it’s like he’s always falling rapidly to a a bottomless place, no time to talk to or to think to himself. Here, away from everything, he’s floating gently like a feather. Wherever he lands is what he writes down. 

Zayn loves his job. He writes and produces for other artists and he’s going to do it until he can’t anymore. Sometimes, though, he wants to write for himself. Out here he can do that. He doesn’t have his phone, only a landline that comes with the cabin. The cabin itself is cozy, all one room but the bathroom. His bed is in the kitchen and he cooks in the sitting room. His guitar and keyboard is set up in the corner furthest from the door, and he uses an old, beat up tape recorder to remember particular words or melodies or song notes he’ll forget otherwise. 

Zayn wakes again, much more naturally this time, at dawn. He stands up, stretches his muscles out. Teddy refuses to get out of bed, not even with the offer to go outside. Zayn pulls on his housecoat and crosses the day off on his calendar. He doesn’t have a clock. He’ll fall asleep sometimes when the sun goes down, which he knows is early, then wake up again in the middle of the night to write. 

"I’m going out if you’re not," Zayn says to Teddy. Teddy lifts his head up and drags himself out of bed, pausing to stretch his legs out while Zayn gets his boots on.

A fresh layer of snow coats the one already on the ground. It’s light and powdery, dipping into the prints from before and filling them halfway. Teddy runs off straight away, which is so unusual for him that Zayn gets worried and follows after. Usually Teddy sticks close to the cabin, and he certainly doesn’t stray far from Zayn. 

"Teddy?" Zayn calls out. He’s still only in his pyjamas and housecoat and it’s pretty cold. 

He finds Teddy sniffing around a lump on the ground. At first glance it looks like maybe a large branch, but as Zayn approaches, and Teddy starts barking, he notices fabric poking out of the new snow. 

"Oh my God," Zayn says. He rushes forward and falls to his knees, frantically brushing the snow away. Underneath it is a freezing cold lump of a person, a man lying flat on his back. His skin is almost as white as the snow and it’s icy to the touch. 

Zayn knows he should run back and call for help, but in the meantime he can’t just let this guy lie out here like this. He doesn’t know if he’s okay, or - Zayn doesn’t want to think about it. Before he can stop himself, Zayn hauls the man’s prone form up and onto his back, holding his wrists in one hand and his legs in the other. He carries him all the way back to the cabin, Teddy barking after him all the while. 

~*~ 

Once they get inside, Zayn lays the man as gently as he can on the bed. He contemplates covering him up to try to get him warm, but he doesn’t think that would be enough. The man’s body isn’t giving off any heat, so a blanket wouldn’t do much good. Zayn gets him down on the floor and throws another log into the wood-burning stove. Zayn was skeptical of the stove’s powers when he came here, but on the first night he ended up having to crank it down because it gave off so much heat. 

He gets the man as close to the stove as is safe. His coat and trousers are covered in melting snow and becoming soaking wet, which isn’t good. Zayn knows a lot about staving off frostbite; his dad sends him all sorts of articles about it before coming here every year.

"Okay," Zayn says, to comfort the man, who obviously cannot hear him, as well as himself. "I’m going to take off your clothes, okay? First the shirt. That’s it. Then the boots, socks. There." 

Zayn keeps the man’s pants on to reserve some dignity for both of them. 

A part of him is horrified he still hasn’t call for help. He has no idea who this man is or why he was outside and he isn’t a doctor. This man could already be gone, or almost gone, and Zayn doesn’t know if he’s making it worse. All he’s doing is going on instinct, and his instinct is telling him to help. It’d take a long time to get anyone out here to do the same things he’s doing now anyway, he figures. 

What is he even doing? He finds a frozen man outside and he just brings him in and gets him naked. Hysteria bubbling up inside him, he sort of hopes this guy has been frozen for a long time. Maybe Zayn has discovered a caveman. The fashions are correct for this time period, though, so probably not. 

If Zayn had known this man before, he would have yelled at him for not dressing for the weather. All he’s got on his a pair of black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black leather jacket pulled on over than. His gloves are fingerless, for fuck’s sake. Zayn holds one of the man’s hands between his. Zayn is cold; this guy is colder. 

Teddy sits on the chair and growls unhelpfully at the whole thing. Zayn has an epiphany. 

"Is this what you were barking at last night?" Zayn says. 

Teddy barks and wags his tail. 

"I’ll listen to you from now on," Zayn says. 

~*~

Zayn puts a pillow behind the man’s head, cradling his skull in his palm to lift it up and lay it back down carefully. The ice that had formed in his hair is melting now too, and Zayn runs his fingers through it, combing out the droplets of water until it’s nearly dry. 

He pulls all the blankets off the bed and covers them both up. He presses his body close, throwing his leg over the man’s leg, wrapping his arm over the man’s chest. Zayn doesn’t even known if this man is still breathing, hasn’t been able to bring himself to check. He scoots closer to press his ear to the man’s chest and listens. 

Nothing. Then, a beat. They come slow and irregular, but his heartbeats exist. Zayn’s own is wild and terrified. He wises he could split his heartbeats in half and give some to this man. 

Slowly, the man’s skin begins to warm up. The heat of Zayn’s body gets trapped in the blankets and the heat of the stove warms them from the outside. Teddy scratches at the edge of the blanket, and Zayn lifts it just a fraction so he can climb under as well. Between the two of them, their new friend should be better in no time. As long as no permanent damage has already been done. 

~*~ 

In the meantime, Zayn lets his mind wander. He tells himself stories about the man. Maybe he’s an assassin hired by Zayn’s enemies to take him out. So then why was he outside in the snow? He got tired and fell asleep? He could be a psychopathic murderer, like an extremely disciplined one who trains his body to barely breathe, then wakes all of a sudden to kill. Maybe he has amnesia and went out wandering and got lost and tired and just gave up. 

The man’s eyebrows move and Zayn jumps out of his skin. He leans up to stare and see if his eyebrows will move again. The guy has nice eyebrows, thick and groomed. He’s got a bit of stubble framing his full, pink lips. That’s a good sign, since just a little while ago his lips were nearly blue. 

"Hey," Zayn whispers. "You awake?" 

No response. The man’s face is still again and peaceful. Zayn wonders what else he should be doing and can’t think of anything. He’ll just stay here until the man wakes up. 

~*~ 

"What’s your name?" Zayn says. 

He’s starting to get bored, or as bored as someone can be after finding a frozen man and saving his life. They’ve been lying here for a long time, long enough for the sun to rise high into the sky. 

The man, of course, does not reply. 

"I’ll call you…" Zayn reaches for a suitable name. "David. You look a bit like that football bloke, don’t you? Oh,God, I hope you’re not him. That would be bad news. Here I’ve got David Football Bloke stashed away in my cabin. I swear I’m not trying to hold you hostage or anything. You’re free to leave whenever you like." 

The man does not say whether or not he is ready to leave yet. Zayn lifts the blanket a little bit to get some light. His skin is vastly improved, full of color now and getting pink on his chest. His chest is rather nice, muscled and hair. It matches the looks of his face.

"Okay, David," Zayn says. "You’re making good progress it would seem. Now all you’ve got to do is wake up." 

David does not wake up. Zayn listens to his heartbeats and counts every one. There are more of them every minute. 

~*~ 

"My love, my life, my shorty, my wife," Zayn belts out. It was the first song he could think of. He thinks maybe singing might help David somehow, and if it doesn’t, it certainly makes Zayn feel better. "She left me, I’m tied, ‘cause I knew that it just ain’t right." 

David’s fingers twitch on his stomach, his fingers extending then clenching slightly. Zayn wants to shake him, slap him across the face, anything to watch his eyes open. 

"Please," Zayn says. The combined heat of their bodies under the blanket is making Zayn sweaty and punchy. This entire day has been insane. He wants it to be over, but he wants it to end well. 

Only a few minutes later, David gasps a harsh breath. Zayn, who hadn’t been expecting it, screams out loud like he’s in a horror movie. 

"What," David croaks. The ‘T’ is pronounced, his bottom teeth sound it out. 

"You’re all right," Zayn says. 

"Oh," David says. He lifts his head and takes in his surroundings, which is nothing but a blanket tent. He notices his clothes are off. "Am I?"

"You were outside and nearly froze to death," Zayn explains. "Do you remember?" 

"Oh, yeah. I got lost. Then it started snowing, and. I’m not sure." David rubs his forehead with his fingers, as if trying to massage his memories out of it. 

That reminds Zayn. “What’s your name?” 

"Liam. What’s yours?" 

"Zayn." 

"You saved my life, Zayn?" Liam says. Liam. It suits him, and immediately Zayn makes room in his heart for it. 

"I hope so, Liam," Zayn says. 

Liam starts to sit up, but he squeeze his eyes shut and thinks better of it. Zayn steadies him with a hand on Liam’s bare hip, gets him to lie back down on the pillow. Teddy, who’s been going in and out of the blanket every so often, finally notices something is going on. He barks until Zayn takes the blankets half off of them - it’s probably safe to let air in now - and immediately hops onto Liam’s chest and curls up there. 

Liam pets Teddy wonderingly, like he’s never seen a dog before. Maybe he hasn’t. It’s entirely possible Liam escaped from a dogless cult deep in the mountains and ran towards Zayn’s chimney smoke for refuge. 

"What can I get for you?" Zayn says. "Are you hungry?" 

"Were you singing?" Liam says, as if Zayn hadn’t asked him anything. His voice is deep and far away, like he’s still coming back from wherever he was. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Could you hear me?" 

"I think so," Liam says. "Will you sing some more?" 

Zayn tries to remember where he left off. Before he can, Liam grabs Zayn’s hand and squeezes hard, like he’s trying to figure out if Zayn’s really there. Liam brings Zayn’s hand up and holds it to his mouth, kissing it sweetly. 

"Do you sing?" Zayn says. 

"Yeah," Liam says. In the orange light of sunset, he’s soft-eyed and scared. Zayn’s only known him a few minutes, but it feels like much longer. Time is different here. He has to get Liam back to where he came from, or at least to somewhere new to be proper taken care of. Until then, Zayn stays with him in front of the stove and holds his hand. 

"Let’s sing together," Zayn says. 

**December 20**

"Thank you and have a happy holiday," says the guy who rings him up at the register, walking round the counter to hand Harry’s his bags. The guy - his name tag says ‘Michelle R.’ - is very polite and everything, and is actually pretty cute despite the giant, red spot on his cheek, but he’s the slowest-moving person he’s ever dealt with at a shop, taking several minutes to fold and bag the clothes Harry’s purchased. 

Harry’s sure Nick would have a laugh at Harry calling someone slow-moving, pot and kettle and all that, but Harry is in a hurry to get all this shopping done by the end of today. There’s no way he’s going out on Christmas Eve. Nick will just have to fire him if it comes down to that. 

"Thanks, you too," Harry says distractedly. He’s moved on and is pulling out the list Nick gave him this morning. Quite a bit of it is already crossed off, but there are still a few select items he’s been struggling with all day. Under Alexa’s name is only says ‘SOMETHING WEIRD’ and Harry can’t decide what ‘weird’ means in this particular instance. Weird - sexually? Weird - cheeky? 

Harry’s just sitting down on a bench to rest his feet when his phone rings. Of course, it’s Nick, checking on him for the third time today. He turns over the possibility of not answering, but it’s out of the question. Just Nick’s name appearing on his phone has got him frenzied. 

"No, I’m not done yet," Harry answers. 

"Well, excuse me," Nick says. 

Nick’s voice is still scratchy from the station’s holiday party last night. Harry was invited, even though he’s only an intern. Everyone on the show treats him like a tolerable kid brother or even sometimes an okay friend. It was loads of fun last night, but Harry got almost no sleep before he had to be up again. Nick didn’t sleep at all before going back in to do the show. Harry knows because Nick let him sleep over at his. 

No funny business or anything. Nick literally said to him, ‘no funny business,’ before crawling into his own bed next to Harry. They’d kept their clothes on from the evening. Nick smelled like worn-off deodorant, sweat and musk. Harry waited until Nick had fallen asleep to inhale the scent of his pillows. No funny business was made, at least not yet. 

Harry is completely ready and willing to sleep with Nick, in the funny business sort of way, like no real sleeping and actually real fucking. He’s sure Nick knows this, and that he feels the same way, but Nick would never in a million years act on those feelings. He is way too professional and mature and ethical and whatever for stuff like that. 

Nick showed him the list before Harry left his house this morning, almost as a joke, complaining about how much he doesn’t want to go out and shop. Harry snatched the list up and offered his services immediately. He’s never done another person’s Christmas shopping for them, but he can’t deny doing anything that would please Nick. 

"I’ve just got a few more things to pick up and I’ll be finished," Harry says. 

"Splendid," Nick says. "Don’t forget - " 

"I got this," Harry says. "Hey - do you mean weird sexually or weird cheeky?" 

"Sexually," Nick says, offended at the question. "Always sexually." 

~*~ 

Harry buys an environmentally friendly water bottle that looks enough like something naughty as to be considered sexually weird for Alexa, a Nuns Having Fun calendar for Finchy, and an iced latte for himself on Nick’s dime. He’d never think to do that, but he’s a bit annoyed because he got to the bottom of the list and Harry’s name was left off it entirely. Maybe it’s because Nick didn’t want Harry to have to buy his own Christmas present, but he doubts Nick is going to go out and get him something on his own. 

The drive back to Nick’s only works him up even more. Nick doesn’t appreciate him at all. Here he is wasting his Sunday afternoon running errands for Nick, and Nick doesn’t even care. He only uses Harry and Harry gets nothing in return, not even a piddly little gift for his troubles. By the time he arrives at Nick’s, he’s worked up quite the lather. 

"Here’s your stuff," Harry says, shoving the bags at Nick as soon as he opens the door. He goes to turn and stomp away, but Nick stops him. 

"Wait," Nick says. "Come in. Let me make sure it’s all here." 

Harry is incensed at the thought of Nick questioning the job he did. Maybe Harry falls over a lot and hits the wrong button at the radio board every once in a while, and maybe his sleeve did get caught on an ornament at the party last night and he tore half his shirt, but he’s damn good at everything else Nick asks him to do, including shopping. 

Nick digs through the shopping bags, scrutinizing the items within. He seems pleased, especially at Alexa’s weird sex toy bottle, but then smile fades. 

"You forgot something," Nick says. 

"No, I didn’t," Harry says. "Can I go now?" 

"Yes, you did," Nick says. "Did you turn the list over?" 

"What?" Harry says. If he has to go back out and get a load of other garbage for a whole host of Nick’s other, closer, better friends, he’s going to kill someone. He takes the list from his pocket and unfolds it, flips it to the back of the page he’s already crossed everything off of. 

A single item remains. It’s Harry’s name, and under it is written, ‘whatever you want’ and under that, ‘within reason’. 

"Oh," Harry says. He can’t fight the smile that overtakes him. "I thought you’d forgot about me." 

"Course I didn’t," Nick says, like Harry’s an idiot. 

"I bought a latte," Harry says stupidly. 

"Oh well, guess that’s your present," Nick says. "Happy Christmas, see you in the new year." 

Harry laughs, and Nick watches him laughing, and Harry watches Nick watching him. Now’s the time if ever to get what he really wants. Harry saunters closer to Nick and tries to look as seductive as possible. 

"There is one thing you could give me," Harry says. 

"Are you all right?" Nick says, trying to joke but obviously nervous. "You look ill." 

Harry puts his hands on Nick’s hands, slowly, so slowly tugging Nick’s tucked shirt out of his trousers. His skim up Nick’s sides and back down, scratching the hair on his chest. Nick bites his lip and shakes his head, more in awe than in refusal. Then he grabs Harry by the wrists and gently removes Harry’s hands from his person. 

Harry is ready to die of humiliation, but Nick doesn’t seem angry. Actually, he looks smug. He tsks Harry and wags a finger at him. 

"No peeking before Christmas," Nick says.

**December 21**

Harry sets the boombox down in front of Louis’ door. Before knocking, he primps his hair and fusses with his clothes. He ordered the outfit special online and he just got it this morning, so he’s taking it out for a spin the only way he knows how. 

Louis answers the door. Harry bends and presses play on the CD, taking care not to show his asshole in the little red skirt. It’s flowy, but very short. The fluffy white trim at the hem just barely covers his bum. It’s a strapless get-up too, so he keeps having to yank it up past his nipples every few seconds. 

"You’re still using CDs?" Louis says. 

'Santa Baby' - the Kylie version, of course - starts playing on the boombox. Harry lifts his arms above his head in what he knows is a sensuous way and lip syncs along to the song, including all the little flirty moans and squeals. The frames his face with his hands, touching his lips and blinking his eyes seductively, twirling around in the nightie and really feeling it. 

"Think of all the fellas that I - haven’t kissed," Harry mouths along, blowing a kiss to Louis. 

Louis stares at him, mouth agog, for ten more seconds. Harry doesn’t even get to finish the song before Louis slams the door in his face. 

~*~ 

The next door is Liam. Liam is far more receptive to Harry’s performance. He leans in the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised attentively. He lets Harry get through the whole song. After it’s done, Liam applauds and whistles. 

"That was amazing," Liam says, smiling wide. "I have one suggestion…" 

Harry’s scowls. “You know what, Liam? Nobody asked you.” 

Liam only laughs and runs back into his room, returning quickly with a couple of candy canes. 

"Props," Liam says, offering the candy canes to Harry. 

Harry takes them them stiffly. He doesn’t know what Liam expects him to do with these. He holds them up to his nipples, but they aren’t big enough to hang the candy canes from. 

"You could just, you know," Liam says. He waves hands around in an elaborate twirling motion. 

"Oh, I get it," Harry says. He puts the straight end of a candy cane in each nostril. "Thanks, Liam." 

"Have fun," Liam says. 

~*~ 

Zayn bends over laughing as soon as he opens his door, before Harry can even start the CD. 

"Shh," Harry says. Zayn clears his throat and quiets himself, paying close attention as Harry dances. Eventually Zayn’s fond look turns perplexed, then mortified, then a mixture of all three, like he can’t believe he gets to associate with Harry, but that he also is forced to associate with Harry. 

When Harry finishes, Zayn kisses him on the cheek, then slaps his hand softly where he’s just had his lips. 

"You’re mad," Zayn says. "Get out of the corridor before someone gives you a spanking." 

Harry turns and presents his fluffy white bottom. Zayn gets a few good swats in before Harry yelps and gathers his things. 

~*~ 

Niall stands stone still for the entire thing. He says absolutely nothing. Harry puts a lot of effort in, more than he’s done for the rest of his performances tonight, perhaps more than he’s put in for any performance in his entire life. He concentrates on not having an insane face, and on moving his hips, and on drawing attention to his mouth with his hands. 

Even when he adds in some crowd interaction and involves Niall in the song, he gets absolutely no reaction. Kissing Niall’s cheek when the line calls for it, caressing Niall’s chest with a finger, even bending over in Niall’s face and arching his back to stand back up slowly - all amount to nothing. Harry pays special attention to make sure Niall is blinking and isn’t just a cardboard cutout, but his eyes are working, and Harry’s sure they’re tracking Harry’s moves. 

"Hurry down the chimney tonight," Harry says, sliding his hands all down his front and landing on his crotch. He demurely giggles into his hand along with Kylie. The song ends, and there’s silence. 

Niall clenches his fist, the first sign he’s given that he’s actively alive. 

"Get in here," Niall says quietly, opening his door a bit wider. 

Harry can’t keep the triumphant smile off his face. “Did I do a good job? Are you angry? Are you so aroused you can’t think? Do you like my outfit?” 

"Yes," is all Niall says, which Harry takes to mean an affirmative for all questions asked. He picks up his boombox, makes a snap decision to bring along the candy canes, and shimmies his way into Niall’s room. 

**December 22**

"Hey, Marv!" Louis shouts over the music. Marvin, a true professional, gives Louis a thumbs up with one hand while keeping the other manning the DJ duties. 

"It’s great you could come, Louis," Marvin shouts. 

"Is it okay if I called you Marv?" Louis says. The empty left side of his jumper tugs heavily and slips a little, revealing a saucy shoulder. 

"I’d rather you not," Marvin says. 

"Okay, Marv Marv, see you later then!" Louis says. Marvin laughs and shakes his head. Louis remembers why he’d come up to the DJ booth in the first place: he can’t find Zayn. "Say, Marv Marv, have you seen Zayn?" 

Marvin nods and points across the club. Zayn is stood next to Harry on top of the bar counter, along without a dozen other people. The lights bounce off of the crystals on the ceiling - the crystals are all shaped like perky tits, which Louis loves - and temporarily blinds him. He loses sight of Zayn and must start his search all over again. 

~*~

This isn’t normally his kind of place, but he’s happy the Humeses invited him to their ugly jumper party with the rest of the boys. 

"Harold," Louis shouts. Harry, still up on the bar and alternating between dancing with a man twice his age and a woman twice his age, excuses himself and hops down to the floor. 

"What’s up?" Harry says. 

"Jesus, Harry," Louis says, shielding his eyes. "You really took ‘ugly’ to heart." 

Harry’s jumper is the gaudiest thing Louis has ever seen. It’s made out of a some sort of white fuzz, and there are big, leathery patches of gold and red and green on it like make Louis think of dried out fruit. 

"I didn’t even get the email that it was a theme party," Harry says sadly. "This is just what I wore. Everyone’s been complimenting me and telling me I’m a shoe-in. And I’m like, a shoe in what? What’s my shoe in?" 

Louis nods. He stopped paying attention several seconds ago, so he waits for the noise coming out of Harry’s mouth to stop before moving the conversation along. 

"Where’d Zayn run off to?" Louis says. 

"He said he was going out for a smoke break," Harry says. 

Louis thanks him and pushes his way through the throngs of Christmas-colored knitwear with people inside them. 

He’s got on a spectacularly hideous number that actually belongs to his Nannie Olive, something he’d never tell anyone, because he doesn’t want it out that he can fit into a 92-year-old woman’s clothing. It’s bright red with a bejewelled tree in the center, all costume gems and pearls and glitter, and it itches like hell. The main reason he chose this jumper, however, is the fact that it’s a jumper for two. 

"It’s a maternity jumper?" Niall had said when inquiring about the nature of Louis’ jumper. 

"No, see, it’s got two head holes," Liam had pointed out helpfully. He lifted the floppy, unoccupied side of Louis’ jumper and let it drop back down sadly. 

Louis discovers Liam and Niall out back having a cigarette, without Zayn. Niall’s jumper is a lovely, subtle nutcracker scene, almost like a magic eye thing you have to stare at to figure out. Liam decided on an unfortunate jumper portraying a chain of reindeer all mounting one another. 

"Zayn isn’t out here?" Louis says. He’s sweating on one half of his body and cold on the other where the jumper keeps riding down. Liam and Niall answer him, but he doesn’t hear them over the determination in his heart. He must find Zayn. Zayn’s who he wants to be trapped inside a Christmas jumper with, and god damn it, he’s going to make it happen. 

Just as Louis goes back inside to hunt some more, he runs smack into Zayn. 

"Ah, there you are," Zayn says. He takes Louis’ face in both hands and gives him a big kiss on either of his cheeks. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you." 

"Fuck, Zayn, did you even try?" Louis says, looking Zayn up and down. His jumper looks as if it was designed by a genius in a beautiful clothing lab and hand-sewn for 60 hours by fashion surgeons. Each gem lies just so the light reflect off it enough that your eye is drawn to the next. There are sprigs of holly made of marbles and silk, snow that looks like real snow, a fucking Santa doing a sick ollie on a dazzling reindeer-and-crossbone skateboard. 

"Everyone’s been saying that," Zayn says sadly. "I worked on this jumper every night this week. It’s not my fault it’s not ugly enough." 

Louis sighs fondly. “I’ve been looking for you, too.” 

"Yeah?" Zayn says. Louis’ jumper has slipped again, his bare shoulder chilly and breaking out in goose pimples. Zayn lays his hand on Louis’ shoulder and rubs, instantly warming him up. 

"Yeah," Louis says, trying not to press into Zayn’s touch, but failing. The loud din and pulsing music of the room is quiet compared to the rush in Louis’ head. "I wanted you to be my second head." 

"Of course," Zayn says. 

He stands beside Louis and ducks, then slithers up inside the other half of the jumper. His head pokes out, hair barely mussed, and his arm fits perfect in the sleeve. Without discussing it, they both jump into the air at the same time and high-five. The ends of their hair tickle each other, so it’s like they’re one head and one heart and one body. 

"I love filling your holes, Louis," Zayn says, scrunching his nose and laughing at his own double entendre. 

"I hope you do," Louis says. 

**December 23**

Liam receives a disparaging letter shoved under his door the day after his lights are all up. 

PLEASE KINDLY TAKE SOME OF THESE LIGHTS DOWN THEY ARE KEEPING THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD AWAKE AND THEY ARE FUCKING UGLY THANKS SO MUCH 

He knows for a fact they are not keeping the entire neighborhood up, because he checked himself. Each strand of lights he strung, he’d walk down the road with a ladder and stand on each step to make sure it wasn’t beaming directly into some poor soul’s windows. He even personally knocked on the door of every neighbor asking if it was okay that he put up as many lights as he has. Everyone gave him their blessing, assured him it’d be lovely if he’d brighten up the street a bit. 

The roof is outlined in big, multicolored, old-fashioned glass bulbs Liam’s dad gave him. It was hard doing it, especially without help, or rather, especially with Harry coming over to help but only making it worse and falling off the roof and breaking his arm, but the way it turned out is definitely worth it. In the center of the roof lights is a light-up Santa being pulled in his sleigh by his reindeer, and the lights blink in such a way that the reindeer go up and down in time. 

There are several Santas around his entire frontyard, actually. A blow-up Santa that greets you when you come up the walk, creepily realistic animatronic Santa that waves at you from the porch, and Liam’s favorite, the Santa nailed to the tree closest to the street so it looks like Santa crashed into the tree and got flattened on impact. Even though it’s a simple thing, it makes him laugh every time he sees it. 

Liam throws the letter away and shakes his head. He knows who it’s from, though it isn’t signed. He writes a letter of his own and marches over to stick it under Louis’ door. 

IT WOULD IMPROVE THE MORALE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD IF YOU WOULD STOP BEING SUCH A SCROOGE AND DECORATE YOUR HOUSE A LITTLE BIT. IT WOULDN’T KILL YOU. 

~*~ 

Liam gets home one night and immediately feels something is wrong. He consults the diagram on his phone - the lights in sector 4 are all working, train A is right on schedule on the Christmas rail road, and train B is just behind. Ah - the disco tree is missing. Liam bought the disco tree on impulse and put it up at the last minute. It isn’t his most cherished decoration, a bit too abstract for him, since it’s basically just a blue, strobing cone that’s meant to represent a pine tree, but still. It’s his and it’s missing. 

Then he spots it out of the corner of his eye. Next to Louis’ porch, hooked up to an extension cord that looks unsafe, is the disco tree. Liam smiles, his heart warmed that Louis has found the Christmas spirit, even if the foundation of it has been built on theft. He’s so cheered by the sight of Louis’ yard with any decoration in it, he decides to march right up to Louis’ door and tell him so. 

"You told me to decorate," Louis says, annoyed at having to answer the door and speak with Liam. He’s obviously ready for bed, flannel pyjamas and a jumper with sleeves so long they cover his hands. "I didn’t have any, so I borrowed one of yours. You’re not going to call the Santa police on me, are you?" 

"Hello," Liam says. He realizes he’s looking Louis up and down and blushes, but then he notices something unusual. "Are those reindeer slippers?" 

Louis steps on one of his feet with the other, as if he’ll be able to hide both. “No.” 

"Well," Liam says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets for something to do with them, not because it’s cold. "The tree looks better in your yard." 

"Yes, it does," Louis says. 

"Happy Christmas then, Louis," Liam says. He turns to walk away, go back to his own bright, empty home. 

"Wait," Louis shrieks. He clears his throat to try to cover that fact that he shrieked. "It’ll be my birthday at midnight." 

"Oh," Liam says. "Happy almost birthday." 

"Would you like to join me?" Louis says. He puts all his weight on one leg, then the other, shifting around. If Liam didn’t know better, he’d say Louis was nervous. "Just like, showering me with praise and well-wishes and all that." 

Liam smiles, unable to keep his fondness from creeping into it. “Typical Christmas baby. Forget Jesus, it’s all about you.” 

"Yeah, so," Louis says, all sniffing and twitchy energy. "Are you coming in or not?"

**December 24**

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Niall calls uncertainly from behind the locked bathroom door. 

Harry impatiently flings himself onto the bed. They don’t have much time left before their holiday break starts and they go their separate ways for Christmas. 

"Stop dawdling," Harry says. He likes the way the bounce of the mattress makes his inside feels, so he flops up and down a bit more like a struggling fish. "Come out, I want to see." 

"Okay," Niall says. The bathroom door opens and out comes good Saint Nick. "Ho, ho, ho!" 

"Oh," Harry says, breathless with anticipation. Then, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice, "oh." 

"What?" Niall says. 

He twists and turns, trying to find defect with his costume. The coat is a bright, true red, the fur trim is fluffy, the black belt at his waist perfect matches the leather of his boots. Even the fake white beard looks real, or it would if it weren’t for Niall’s actual hair peeking out from below the hat. 

"It’s just," Harry says. He crawls towards the foot of the bed and lays his hand on Niall’s middle. "You’re not fat. Your belly doesn’t jiggle like a bowl full of jelly." 

"I’m sorry I couldn’t gain 300 pounds overnight," Niall says, sarcastic, eyes rolling. "You only told me this was your ultimate fantasy yesterday. Believe me, I tried. Do you have any idea how much I ate?"

Niall adjusts the round bifocals on the end of his nose. Harry flushes deeply, arousal going through him like Santa down a chimney. He runs his hand along the velvet sleeve of Niall’s coat and forgets that Niall isn’t as jolly as he’d imagined. 

Sleeping with Santa is something Harry can remember picturing ever since he started picturing that sort of thing. It was well after he’d learned Santa wasn’t real, just something that popped into his head when he was pleasuring himself at Christmastime as a teen. What if Santa came in to give him presents and caught him? What if Harry didn’t mind? 

It’s not something he tells everyone. He and Niall already know each other so well, and they’re running out of things to tell each other about themselves. Harry’s so excited they’ve finally started fucking, because now at least he can tell him all the freaky stuff he’s got on his mind. Niall, for his part, is usually pretty accepting, at least after making fun of him for a bit. 

"No, it’s perfect," Harry says. He sits up on his knees and tugs on the end of Niall’s white beard. It only gives somewhat, the elastic bands around Niall’s ears tight and strong. "God, you are so sexy like this." 

Niall purses his lips and furrows his brows. Harry has the unrelenting urge to sit on his lap, naked, with Niall still fully clothed. He wants to rub that velvet all over his ass, make Santa hard. They’re running out of time, though, so they really should just get down to business.

"Do you want me to like, be Santa? Or just look like Santa?" Niall deepens his voice dramatically and bellows out, "You’re on my naughty list, Harry. You haven’t been a very good boy." 

Harry shudders and bites his lip to keep from moaning. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

Harry pulls Niall down by his belt and lays him out on the bed. They kiss, Niall’s big white beard tickling Harry’s lips. His hat starts falling off as they roll around on the pillows, and Harry tucks it back on into place. 

"I can’t believe I’m asking this," Niall says, closing his eyes in shame. "But in your fantasies, are you like - are you fucking Santa? Or is Santa fucking you? We didn’t talk it through that far." 

Wild images flash through Harry’s mind - Harry sitting in Santa’s lap and riding him, Santa bent over his sleigh for Harry, everything and anything. He doesn’t know which he wants more. 

"I don’t - " Harry says. He knows he’s red and glassy-eyed, almost drunk and incoherent with lust, but he trusts Niall to take care of him. 

"Let’s just start simple," Niall says. "How would you like a handjob from Santa?" 

"Please," Harry whimpers. 

Niall goes to take his fur-trimmed glove off. Harry stays his hand. 

"Leave them on," Harry says.

**December 25**

Dylan shows up late, like way late, so he only poses for the photographers for a couple of seconds before darting inside. He doesn’t even notice what logos he’s posing in front of, but they probably can’t be too bad if they’re sponsoring a fundraising event. If Dylan is being honest with himself, he can’t remember the name of the charity he’s supporting right now. The only reason he’s here is because he promised to be here, like promised so many people that it’d be a dick move not to show, like he’s pretty sure even his mom knows he’s here and if she found out he ditched it he wouldn’t get his Christmas presents this year. 

Only one hour, then he can leave. He’s got a flight to catch in eight hours, but he’ll tell everyone it’s in three hours, that way he’ll get four hours of sleep before going home for the holidays. He starts humming The Carpenters to himself, even though he hates The Carpenters, when suddenly, the cameras outside start flashing wildly behind him. The door closes before he can see who it is. 

"Jesus, did Big Foot show up or something?" Dylan mutters. A server strolls by and offers him something wrapped in bacon. Dylan shoves it in his mouth without knowing what it is, because it is wrapped in bacon. 

A dazed-looking Harry Styles, sporting a pin-striped button-down shirt and a rag around his neck, walks through the door. A crowd of people flock to him immediately. Dylan is torn between jealousy that nobody came over to peck his eyes out when he walked in, relief that nobody noticed him, and the sick desire to join the crowd gathered around Harry Styles. 

Getting to talk to Harry Styles would make this entire outing worth it - in fact, it would make his entire life. He tries to think of what he’d say, something original and funny, something that would make Harry Styles laugh and remember the interaction. He can’t come up with anything. 

Another server walks by with something that looks like one of those a microwave taquitos he loves, but it turns out to be sweet rather than savory. He’s in the middle of sticking his tongue out of his mouth in disgusted surprise when Harry Styles comes over to him. 

"Hi," Harry Styles says. 

"Hah," Dylan says, chewed food hanging out of his mouth. He puts his tongue back in and swallows. "It was sweet instead of savory." 

"I’m Harry," Harry Styles says. He offers his hand. Dylan shakes it. "I’ve seen you before, yeah? At like, MTV things." 

"Yeah, yes," Dylan says. "I’m Dylan O’Brien. Nice to meet you." 

"You, too," Harry Styles says. "So stay away from the sweet things that look savory?" 

Dylan nods. “You have to try the bacon-wrapped thing. Wrap anything in bacon and I’m putting it in my mouth.” 

He stops himself from saying something terrible, like ‘even a dick’ or something. It’s right there, dangling right in front of him, on the tip of his tongue, but he controls himself. 

A server scampers by them looking annoyed. They are standing close to the kitchen door, blocking a bunch of people’s ways. Someone walks out with a tray of the bacon things and knocks into Harry’s shoulder. He’s thrown forward into Dylan’s space. Dylan, lightning-fast when it comes to seizing food, reaches around his back and procures a bacon-wrapped thing for Harry Styles. 

"Here you are," Dylan says, handing the toothpick to Harry Styles. Their fingers brush as he takes it, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he opens his mouth and stuffs it in. 

"Thank you," Harry says. 

~*~ 

A few drinks later, and Dylan has no idea how long he’s been here chatting with Harry Styles, whom he admires and is a huge fan of but he’s trying to be cool about it. His tongue feels loose, literally and figuratively, like it’s going to fall out of his head but he can’t stop talking. 

“‘Girl Almighty’ is like - it’s like - beyond - it’s like beyond anything, it’s such a jam, like, so good,” Dylan says. He’s been gushing about the new album track-by-track, giving away the secret that he’s a crazed superfan. Harry Styles is gracious and kind and never seems to get bored. He listens to Dylan ramble on about how great he is to his face, eyes attentive if a little watery. 

"What about you?" Harry Styles says. "You were in that like, maze movie right?" 

Dylan’s heart stops. He feels like he stayed after school and had to stand in front of the teacher while they read a story he’d written or something, a mixture of embarrassment and pride. Harry Styles knows his work, and he wants to die. 

"Yeah, that was me," Dylan says. "It’s actually called Maze Movie, and it’s like a parody movie like the Scary Movie movies because there are so many movies about mazes nowadays." 

"Well, I want to check it out," Harry Styles says. "I love mazes." 

Harry Styles hasn’t said much, but what he does say seems amazing and profound to Dylan. Maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe Dylan is infatuated with no hope of coming back, but he is completely charmed.

"You know what?" Dylan says. He can feel something terrible is about to come out of him, but he can’t stop it, like he’s tied to the railroad but he’s also driving the train. "I feel like I should tell you, like it’d be deceitful of me to keep this from you, while we’re just like, having a pleasant conversation from where you’re standing but in my mind I’m not being honest. Like, okay, you’re definitely on the list of dudes whose dick I’d suck. It’d be like, my best bud Tyler Posey, you, and if the situation present itself, George Clooney. I’d mainly suck George’s dick just to do it though, you know? It’d be great to whip out at parties - the story, not his dick. I don’t mean like, my dick-sucking abilities are so strong that George would leave his wife and date me and go to parties with me where I’d get his dick out in the middle of the room or anything. Also like, the only reason you’re not first on my list is ‘cause Posey would kill me if his wasn’t the first dick I sucked. He’d be hurt, man. Otherwise, like if he was out of the picture, you’d be my number one." 

Harry is staring at him, smile becoming more perplexed as time goes on, but Dylan absolutely cannot stop now. It’s simply impossible for Dylan not to say these things, like some sort of clogged, overflowing toilet. Harry Styles listens politely, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening as if he wants to interject, but Dylan verbally tramples all over him. By the end, his head is tilted sideways like a confused dog, vaguely smiling and blinking rapidly, obviously shocked at Dylan’s open display of his innermost thoughts. 

"I’m so sorry," Dylan says. 

"So you want to suck my dick?" Harry says. 

~*~ 

"Mm gon usewy do dis," Dylan says with Harry Styles’ dick in his mouth. 

Harry Styles winces and puts his hand on the back of Dylan’s to get him to pull off. “Teeth.” 

"I said, I don’t usually do this," Dylan says, mouth empty now. His jaw aches, though he’s only been going down on Harry Styles for barely a minute. The lighting in the bathroom is soft and yellow, and everything smells perfumed and nice, which makes it easier to be on his knees next to a toilet. 

Harry Styles rubs his hand over his dick soothingly. Dylan hopes there aren’t teeth marks. Or maybe he hopes there are, a souvenir for Harry Styles to remember him by. 

"My mom always told me not to talk with my mouth full," Dylan says, shaking his head at himself. "This probably isn’t what she had in mind when she told me that, but the rule should still apply." 

Harry Styles nods. His shirt has been rucked the either side, his nipples peeking out, big and hard. His dick is big and hard too. Dylan wonders if Harry will return the favor suck his dick, or if Harry Styles is a dick and doesn’t suck dicks. 

"Please," Harry Styles says, like he’s in some kind of big hurry. Dylan laughs to himself thinking about nicknaming Harry Styles ‘Hurry Styles’. "I want to get you off too." 

"Oh," Dylan says. All he can think about is this was supposed to be for charity. He’s sucking Harry Styles’ dick for charity. Harry Styles knocks the head of his dick against Dylan’s lips, and Dylan opens his mouth and takes him in. 

**December 26**

The loud, wild chanting of his own name is what wakes Liam. He thinks he’s dreaming, thousands of people calling for him, but he realizes it’s only one voice. 

"Payno! Payno! Payno!" Niall shouts. Each shout is punctuated by three quick knocks on the door. 

The room spins as Liam sits up, or he spins, or the bed spins with him in it like some sort of nauseating carnival ride he didn’t know he was on. Either way, everything is moving in circles and he has to close his eyes to keep from getting sick. It feels like only a minute since he went to bed, so he checks the clock. The clock reads 5:810 as far as Liam can tell. The SNL after party went on later than he could stand. Everyone booed him loudly as he said his good nights, but he just wasn’t able to be awake any longer. 

"Hang on a minute," Liam says. He tries to stand, but cannot. It is not possible. Instead, thinking the blanket will act as some sort of parachute, he wraps himself up and rolls off the side of the bed. The blanket does nothing to soften his fall and he gets carpet burn on his elbows. 

Liam crawls to the door and opens it. Niall is stood there in nothing but his pants, shaking his ass. 

"Payno!" Niall says jovially, as if Liam has just entered the room and Niall is surprised to see him here. "What you doing down there?" 

"Sleeping," Liam says, pillowing his head on the arm and dozing off. 

"Wake up," Niall says. He kicks Liam’s cheek gently with his bare toes and Liam shakes his head violently to get them away. "If you get in bed, I’ll give you a treat." 

"Do you want me to get in bed or do you want me to wake up?" Liam says. 

Niall starts trying to haul Liam to his feet, but he’s not coordinated or strong enough, so he ends up nearly pulling Liam’s arms out their sockets. Liam staggers upright so as not to end up with a dislocated shoulder and flops back down onto the bed. Niall crawls in with him. 

"I’m so fucking imbebriated," Liam says. 

"Inebriated," Niall corrects. 

Liam knows for a fact that Niall has had loads more to drink than him, so he’s annoyed that Niall is able to recall big words right now. 

"Inbebriate," Liam says. "Inebrate. Fuck it, I’m pissed." 

Niall laughs and reaches his hand into his pants. Liam is about to ask what the hell is going on when Niall whips out a candy cane. 

"Don’t worry, it’s still wrapped," Niall says. To prove it, he unwraps the plastic from the candy cane and tosses it behind him. 

"Always practicing safe sex," Liam says. 

"I only have one left," Niall says. "Aidy gave me like, loads. Like, ten of them, but I gave them all away. But I saved this one - this one - special for you." 

"What’ll you have then?" Liam says, very concerned. Niall deserves a candy cane - he deserves every candy cane in the world. 

"We can share," Niall says. 

He puts the hooked end of the candy cane in his mouth, then puts his head close next to Liam’s, trying to direct the straight end into Liam’s mouth but only managing to poke him in the nose. Liam takes the candy cane between his thumb and finger and guides it between his lips, so they’ve each got an end in their mouths. 

"Thank you, Niall," Liam says. "Wasn’t tonight great? It was so fun, like, so much fun." 

"So fun," Niall says. It’s a bit garbled with his mouth full of candy cane, but his smile around it is bright and happy, so the point gets across regardless. 

Liam can’t believe he’s still awake. It must be the sugar rush or the Niall rush or something keep him up. His eyes burn with exhaustion, but his mind is wired. They lie there sucking on the candy cane together like two weird babies sharing a pacifier, until it dawns on Liam their faces are getting closer and closer as the candy cane gets shorter and shorter. 

"Niall," Liam says. "Should we like - like, you know." 

"Wha?" Niall says. 

"Break it in half," Liam says. Pink, peppermint drool leaks out of his mouth and down his chin. He does his best to suck it up, but with his head in such a position some of it dribbles down onto his pillow. "We’re getting awful close." 

"What’s the matter?" Niall says. He grins mischievously, all shining eyes and tilted lips. "Afraid of us kissing?" 

"No," Liam says on instinct, because he isn’t. Niall raises his eyebrows. "I mean, yeah. We shouldn’t." 

"Okay," Niall says. "Let’s just see." 

"See what?" Liam says. 

"Who can last longer," Niall says. 

Liam doesn’t ask what they’re supposed to be lasting longer at. The urge to bite down on the candy cane, to chew on it, make it shorter faster, is slowly overtaking him. He worries it between his teeth, his end becoming pointy and sharp from his spit and his tongue. 

"No biting," Niall says, observant of Liam’s compulsion. 

Before he knows it, the candy candy is small enough that Niall’s lips just barely graze against his. He could pull away, let Niall have the rest of the candy cane to himself. Liam’s mouth is tingly with peppermint and sugar, and his head is groggy but alert. He can’t help but wonder how Niall’s mouth tastes, if it’s the same as Liam’s or if it’s slightly different mixed with the drinks Niall’s had tonight. 

When the candy cane is just a sliver, Liam slips his tongue into Niall’s mouth. What’s left of candy cane passes back and forth between them until it’s gone. 

**December 27**

A stray pine needle pricks Liam in the foot as he stretches his stiff legs out in front of him. He’s already gone over the floor twice with a broom, so he just swipes his sock in the general area and hopes that does the trick. The fireplace gives off the only other light in the room besides the white glow of the Christmas tree, and it’s very late. So late that Liam isn’t sure if he’ll show this year or not. 

Liam hears his dad cough in his sleep a couple rooms over. The furnace kicks on with a thump and a wheeze, and heat blasts up his back from the floor vent behind his chair. When he was a kid, this was always his favorite spot. He’d lie on the floor for hours and make tiny paper airplanes, set them down over the vent and watch them levitate in the air each time the furnace or the air condition came on. 

That’s what he was doing when he met Zayn. Liam wasn’t supposed to be up anymore, because Santa was coming, and he wouldn’t leave any presents for Liam if he was awake. Instead of Santa, a kid the same age as him showed up out of thin air in Liam’s living room, right in front of the tree. Zayn showed Liam how to make a paper crane, something he’d learned at his school. 

It happened again the next year, and the year after that, ever since Liam can remember. Every single year, Zayn came to him. They grew up together. He could never stay long, and Liam could never follow him. This was their night to be with each other, and Zayn is late. 

~*~ 

Liam swears he only dozes off for a second when the tinkling of ornaments being rustled wakes him. The fire is only a faint glow now, but it’s enough to see by. Zayn steps forward, the slight rippling in the air framing, then shrinking and disappearing entirely, until it’s like Zayn is here all the time. 

"Zayn," Liam says. They meet each other halfway and embrace. He puts all the desperation he feels for Zayn in the strength of his arms and wraps Zayn in it. 

"I’m sorry I’m late," Zayn says, returning the hug just as fiercely and speaking into the crook Liam’s neck. "I got held up." 

"How are you?" Liam says. Usually he likes to skip the small talk, since their time together is so rare and so short, but it’s a genuine question. He is very interested in how Zayn is. 

"Good, good," Zayn says, nodding amiably. 

"You’ve grown your hair out," Liam says. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand behind Zayn’s ear. The inky blackness of it is soft, and he silently wishes for the strand to come loose again so he’ll have an excuse to have another touch. 

"Yeah, do you like it?" Zayn says, ducking his head and looking up at Liam through his thick eyelashes, spiky shadows casting over his cheeks. 

The strand falls out over his temple and Liam brushes it away again. 

"Of course, you always look good no matter what," Liam says. 

At first, when they were young, Zayn had been Liam’s only friend, even if their friendship consisted of a few hours once a year. Zayn’s way of knowing exactly how to cheer Liam up and how he laughed at Liam’s jokes made Zayn the most beautiful human in the entire world. Then Zayn got older stopped looking like a baby and more like a man, and Liam got older and saw another type of beauty in Zayn. 

"Liam, listen," Zayn says, biting his lip. He sits down on the sofa, and Liam gets a sick thrill from how normal it seems. If only Zayn could stay, he could sit on that sofa all the time. He could meet Liam’s parents, have dinner with them. "I have something I need to tell you." 

"I have to tell you something, too," Liam says. 

What he has to say, he’s sure Zayn already knows. He’s pretty sure Zayn will be it for him, even if it’s only one day a year. He doesn’t mind waiting all year for Zayn, because Zayn is worth all the time in the world. If Liam has to live the rest of his life like this, it’ll be fine. 

Liam takes a deep breath, stands up as tall as he can, and opens his mouth. “I’m in love with you.” 

Zayn stares up at him. An ember in the fire crackles and pops. Zayn looks away. 

"I’m engaged," Zayn says. 

**December 28**

"Are you sure you can’t do it?" Liam says. 

On the other end of the line, Louis retches into the toilet. It almost sounds angelic, with the acoustic echoing and all that, but maybe Liam is just in that sort of mood. 

"I can’t, Liam," Louis rasps out. "I’m afraid I’m indisposed." 

"Well, whatever disposed it is you’re in, you better get out of it, and fast," Liam says. 

"It means I’m puking and shitting at the same time, Liam," Louis says. "Now if you’ll excuse me, here it comes out the other end." 

Liam begs, but he’s pleading with dead air. He tries to rush along the stages of grieving and move straight to acceptance, if only so he can form a new plan, but he’s stuck inside anger. Louis knows when the nativity play is, because it’s the same date every single year - the day of his birthday. It’s why he always insists on being the Baby Jesus every single year as well. 

Now Liam’s out one Baby Jesus and he’s got absolutely no understudies lined up. He thinks of maybe just forcing Louis’ head into the costume anyway, but they can’t very well have a hungover Christ Child getting sick all over the manger. Maybe if he explains that it’s just a little spit up - no, now he’s thinking crazy. The mind of a desperate man churns up some strange thoughts. He might as well face it: he’s fucked. 

It’s Liam’s first year directing the play and he’s been very careful to not screw anything up. The music is perfect, the costumes are lined up and labeled and ready to go, and he personally vacuumed the carpet leading up to the stage himself. He just didn’t account for his Jesus to go out drinking the night before. Liam has nobody to blame but himself; he should have been one step ahead of Louis, and it didn’t even cross his mind to force Louis to stay in. 

Niall would do it in a heartbeat, but he’s already playing half the instruments. While Liam is sure the kids would enjoy a rock’n’roll Baby Jesus, he’s certain the older sect of the church wouldn’t appreciate it. Plus he doesn’t think Niall would be able to strum a guitar using the little plastic doll hands sewn onto the body of the costume. Zayn doesn’t usually take part in the actual play, but he’s already done his part by touching up the background sets and is probably having a lovely, stress-free evening at home. 

Liam must turn to the only person he has left. 

"No, Liam, I can’t be the Baby Jesus," his dad says. "Why don’t you ask one of your little friends? What about that Styles boy?" 

His dad is right. Liam sighs deeply and marches down the cold, wet steet to Harry’s house. This isn’t how he wanted this to go, but if he is to be a responsible director, he must do what must be done. 

"Liam," Harry says, seeming surprised to see him. He’s getting ready to attend the Christmas play, Liam notices, all dark green velvet from head to toe. 

"Harry," Liam says. He fidgets for a long moment, trying to figure out how to work what he needs to ask. He decides to just come out with it. "I need you to be the Baby Jesus." 

"What happened to Louis?" Harry says. He crosses his arms defensively, and Liam mimics the gesture. 

"He’s indisposed," Liam says, hoping Harry knows what that word means, because he doesn’t have the full capacity to explain it. 

"Okay," Harry says. Liam’s about to cry out in victory when Harry speaks again, a cheeky grin curling up his lips. "But I want something in return. 

Liam sighs. He knew this would happen. He’s known Harry since they were little, and he knows exactly how Harry operates. Everyone gives him whatever he wants, because he’s charming and gives back as much as he gets. Liam’s just as much a sucker as anyone else is. 

"You know, a lot of people would love to do this just out of the kindness of their hearts," Liam says. 

"Well, I’m not a lot of people, Liam. I’m one person, and I want what I want. Then I’ll be your Baby Jesus." 

"Fine," Liam says. "Whatever, let’s just get to the church to make sure your giant head fits." 

~*~ 

The Baby Jesus costume is kind of like a dickie with an infant doll body attached to it. The person wearing it pops it over their head and wears it, so it ends up looking quite comical, but it’s a long-standing Christmas tradition. Louis’s been doing the job for years, ever since he came to understand his birthday is practically the same as Jesus’, and Liam sorely misses him now. 

Harry’s head fits just fine. Liam gets him settled in the manger, making sure he’s in the correct position in the cradle. Then he and Niall cover Harry’s actual body with hay, and the illusion, such as it is, is complete. 

Harry sneezes. 

"Don’t you start that," Liam says. His nerves are fraying at a rapid pace. "You are not allergic to hay. Say it." 

"I am not allergic to hay," Harry says. 

He visibly holds in another sneeze, and Liam feels better about his directorial skills already. 

"Liam, about my conditions," Harry says. His nose wiggles wildly and a gentle stream of snot flows from one nostril. Liam gets on his knees and dabs at Harry’s leaky nose with his own sleeve. "I have a proposal for you." 

"It better not be - " 

"It is an indecent proposal," Harry says. 

"God, I knew it," Liam says, shaking his head at the single, painted star above them. "What is it? Is it - penis stuff?" 

Harry shakes his head, obviously offended that Liam would are to ask him. 

"I only ask that you give me a kiss," Harry says. He offers his cheek up, right there in the manger. Liam has to admit, he’s thought about it before, though he never pictured it like this. At least he thought Harry wouldn’t have the body of a newborn and they wouldn’t be surrounded by plastic farm animals. Well, maybe the farm animals. 

Liam can’t believe he’s doing this, but he leans down without question. At the last second, Harry turns his face. Their lips collide, noses smashing into each other. 

"Ummm," Niall says from beside them. "I’m not judging, but this is pretty weird, even for you guys." 

Liam gasps and falls backwards into the donkey, knocking it on its side. Harry looks as if he’s going to sit up, which would displace the carefully arranged hay covering him. 

"Don’t you dare move," Liam says firmly. He leaves the stage to collect himself. He’s got a play to direct, and he’s not about to let the Baby Jesus mess it up. 

**December 29**

"Stop masturbating," Harry announces to the room. 

Unfortunately, the room is empty, so nobody is there to hear his announcement. Just a few minutes ago - Harry checks his watch and actually, it was a few hours ago now, the lads were having a grand old time in the hotel suite. New Year’s Eve had been a lovely affair, performances followed by parties followed by after parties followed by private parties. They ended the night together at the hotel, exhausted and looking forward to all that was to come. 

The floor is still littered with mini bar snacks and room service, and the telly is muted on some American infomercial for a hair product people use in the forest or something. Someone decided it would be fun for each of them to go round and make a resolution for the new year, something easy, yet something that’s out of the ordinary. 

Niall would like to eat more vegetables. Louis vows to cook more vegetables for Niall. Zayn wants to wear more hats because he looks good in hats. Liam thinks reading at least one book this year would be a good idea. Harry, of course, couldn’t think of anything on the spot. They all gave him a hard time, classic Harry with his slow thoughts and slower mouth, but he didn’t dare rush. This is an important decision, to resolve to do something for an entire year before the year has even started. It’s a promise to himself, like a wish on a birthday candle, and he must take it very seriously. Everyone had gone to sleep before he could come up with something suitable. 

A lump on the couch moves and startles Harry

"What’d you say, Harry?" Zayn says, removing an ear bud from one ear. 

"To stop masturbating," Harry says. 

Zayn looks down at himself, as if he’s masturbating and doesn’t realize it. He is not masturbating, so he looks to Harry for clarification. 

"I’m going to stop masturbating in the new year," Harry says. He tilts his chin up and defies Zayn to question his commitment to this endeavor. 

Zayn only stares at him. “But why?” 

"Because," Harry says. In truth, it’s the only thing he could think of that would seem impressive to a group of hip people. Yes, of course he doesn’t masturbate anymore, it’s so bourgeois, you simply must try it. 

"Come over here," Zayn says. He sits up on the sofa and makes room for Harry to sit. The spot where Zayn’s feet were is warm and Harry snuggles down into it, stealing some of Zayn’s blanket as well. 

"Is it not a good idea?" Harry says. Zayn is a good person and would never guide him in the wrong direction. 

"It’s not good," Zayn says, face kind but stern. "But I’ll support you, if that’s what you want to do." 

Harry nods. All this talk about wanking is making him want to wank, like when you see a commercial for pizza and all you crave is pizza until you get pizza. He fidgets under the blanket, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

"Already breaking your resolution?" Zayn says with a smirk. His hand subtly creeps up his own thigh and comes to rest over his crotch. 

"No," Harry says, swallowing. 

Zayn’s fingers wrap around the shape of his dick in his pyjama pants. Harry is hard and aching already just from watching, and he’s pretty sure he wanked earlier this afternoon. He has no idea how he’ll get through an entire year if he can’t even make it a single day. The urge to touch himself is overwhelming and at the back of his throat, like a yawn when he’s seen someone yawning. 

"If you can’t get yourself off," Zayn says, philosophical and scratching a finger along his jaw, "then you’re going to need some assistance in keeping with your resolution." 

"Please," Harry practically whimpers. 

Zayn offers a helping hand, reaching into Harry’s jeans for his dick. 

"You should wear a hat," Harry says, twisting up into Zayn’s grip. "If you want to like, keep your resolution as well as I am." 

"I’ll keep that in mind," Zayn says. 

**December 30**

Harry’s been drinking wine alone for hours now. At first he’d pour half a glass, then a full glass, then he found a straw in the kitchen drawer underneath some ladles, but it had a hole in it, so he’s now moved on to glugging straight from the bottle. 

Nobody’s called him. All his friends forgot about him. He’s by himself on New Year’s Eve and miserable. Furious, he knocks over the empty wine glasses on the coffee table. Then he feels bad about his private display of anger and carefully picks them up and puts them in the recycle. 

Every year, somebody always has a party. Harry knows this because he’s always at a party. Either not a single one of his friends his having a party this year, which seems highly unlikely, or he hasn’t been invited to any of them, which is entirely possible. After last year when he and Liam tried to recreate a Cirque du Soleil stunt using Zayn’s nicest shirts all tied together and dangled off the side of his second story balcony - and really, it was mostly Liam’s idea, but Harry got blamed for it - cerainly that’s why nobody thought it’d be a good idea to invite him to anything ever again. 

Harry’s wallowing, he knows, but he hates being alone, especially on a holiday, especially when it’s because everybody hates him. He thinks of calling Zayn or somebody to give them a piece of his mind, but his stomach churns, empty of anything but the bottles of wine he’s drunk. 

It’s only when he goes to the kitchen table to retrieve an apple to eat when he notices the papers lining his fruit bowl. In fact, it’s a bunch of envelopes, all of them addressed to him, all of them from somebody he knows. One from Nick, one from Gemma, one from Niall - he tears them all open and finds a party invite for him in every one. Then he feels like a damn fool for forgetting that he put all of these invitations in his fruit bowl for safekeeping; he knew it’d be someplace he’d look. 

Now he’s come off as a rude prick for not accepting the invite or showing up to any party in a timely manner when this entire time he thought he’d been cast aside like trash in the gutter. My God, but he loves his friends and his family. 

It’s not quite midnight, but it’s close. Harry should have time to run down to Niall’s just before the clock strikes. Throwing on his coat and shoes, he feels a bit like Cinderella or something, like he’s just got to make it or else he’ll turn back into a pumpkin. 

In the taxi ride over to Niall’s, he’s in the middle of conjuring memories of his past life as a pumpkin and what that might have been like when the driver wishes him a happy new year. Harry checks his watch. It’s one midnight after midnight. 

"Shit," Harry says. He gives a handful of bills to the driver and tells him to keep the change. The driver informs Harry that he still owes him money, so Harry gives him some more and hopes it adds up to a decent tip as he runs up to Niall’s door and knocks. 

"Happy New Year!" Niall answers, tooting a party horn in Harry’s face. "Oh, it’s you." 

"I’m so sorry," Harry says. He realizes he’s slurring a bit and probably looks like he’s been out partying wildly all night. "I lost your invite in the fruit bowl." 

Niall shakes his head fondly and brings him in for a hug. Then he lays a big, wet kiss square on Harry’s lips and takes the pointy party hat off his own head to bestow upon Harry’s. The sting of the elastic strap under Harry’s chin fills his heart with happiness. 

"I was hoping you’d be a tall, handsome man," Niall says. "They say that brings good luck to a home." 

"Heyyy," Harry says. "I’m tall and handsome." 

"Jesus, Niall, shut the fucking door," Louis shouts. "It’s freezing. My nips are tighter than - why, it’s Harry! Look everyone, Harry decided to show." 

"Harry!" Liam and Zayn call out merrily, as they pull him inside and embrace him. Liam takes Harry into his arms and waltzes him around a few spins. Harry goes along with it, but he’d much rather be standing still in a dark room. After so much wine already, he should’ve just stayed home. 

"His invite was in the fruit bowl," Niall tells them. "Louis owes me ten quid. Pay up." 

"Didn’t you get our texts?" Zayn says. 

"My phone is in the fruit bowl," Harry says. Louis hands Niall another ten quid. 

"Champagne," Liam says, snagging Harry a glass off a nearby table. 

Harry closes his lips tight and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I already started. Now, who wants to hold my hair back?” 

Niall accompanies Harry to the toilet and brushes his hair while softly singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ to him as he empties the wine from his stomach. Harry wouldn’t have wanted to ring in the new year any differently. 

**December 31**

Niall goes to the bathroom to freshen up. He slaps on a fresh coat of aftershave and sniffs his armpits to make sure he’s still okay there. Collar’s a bit crooked under his jumper, so he adjusts it, straightens his sleeves out. The hair on the sides of his head is sticking out too much, so he wets his fingers and slicks it down, but then it’s not sticking out enough, so he shakes a bit until it’s just right. 

Somebody knocks on the door. Niall feels rude holing up in here for long, because it is his house after all, and he’s got loads of people here. 

"Just a minute," Niall says. He swigs some mouth wash and gargles, spitting in the sink. Some final looks in the mirror to make sure he’s got nothing in his teeth or in his eye and he opens the door. 

"I gotta piss like a race horse," Julian says, dancing from foot to foot. "What’d you put in that punch?" 

"Happy New Year," Niall says. 

"It’s not midnight y-mph," Julian says, the last part muffled by Niall’s open mouth fitting against his. 

"I know," Niall says. "But I have a lot of people to get to, so I’m starting early."

"Bro," Julian says as Niall walks away, leaving him in a daze. "Dude." 

~*~ 

"Cordo!" Niall says. "So happy you could come!" 

"Sure, well, left the kids to take care of themselves," James says. "They’re old enough now." 

"How old are they now?" Ben says, coming in behind James with his coat draped over his arm. "Three and, what is it, two months?" 

"Yeah, the older one’s got a handle on things," James says. 

Niall’s laughing himself silly at this point. He’s laughing so much and there’s such a whirl of coat-taking and hand-shaking that James doesn’t see it coming. Niall kisses him on the lips, both their mouths open in a toothy grin. James sputters and spits, blowing a raspberry to get the taste of Niall out of his mouth, though he’s laughing about it. Ben shakes his head and takes matters into his own hands, obviously on to the fact that he’s only delaying the inevitable by resisting. He swoops in and kisses Niall chastely, just a quick peck, but enough to satisfy Niall. 

"Happy New Year, lads," Niall says, and goes to get himself some more punch. 

~*~ 

"The definition of feminism is - " 

"Oh, don’t give me that!" 

"It’s important to - "

"You’re the definition of asshole if you think - " 

Niall finds Bressie on the sofa shouting back and forth with several women. The sofa is not the designated spot for spirited debates, that is over in the corner by the crisp bowls, and Niall feels he must put a stop to it. 

"Hey, hey, hey," Niall says. "Stop fighting." 

He’s careful not to spill his drink as he sidles past. Sophia and Eleanor tucks her legs in so Niall can get by, but Laura leaves hers out and actively tries to trip him. Niall’s not so far gone that he doesn’t notice her tricks, and makes it to Bressie’s cushion safely. He gracelessly falls into Bressie’s lap and lays one on him, effectively shutting him up for a moment. The girls all ‘ooh’ and giggle, looking at each other with their noses scrunched up. 

Niall rolls off Bressie’s lap and into Laura’s, kissing her as well, then down the line to Eleanor and Sophia until everyone’s got theirs. 

~*~ 

"You stand here," Niall says, gripping Ashton’s shoulders and maneuvering him to stand facing Michael. 

Calum is to the left of Ashton and across from Luke, so they’ve formed a square around Niall, boxing him in. They all obey him and stand there until he’s situated, hanging on his every word, even seeming to have a good time while Niall is keeping them away from the festivities. 

"All right," Niall says. He closes his eyes and spins a couple times. When he stops, he’s dizzy and would definitely fall over if it wasn’t for being in a box of upright boys, and he’s face to face with Luke. 

"Happy New Year," Niall says. 

Luke looks at him nervously, biting his lip and looking around for help. The three other boys nod and give Niall a shove forward. Niall puts his tongue up Luke’s nostril, and he is dismissed from the square. Next is Calum, then Michael, and finally Ashton, each of them receiving a lovely nose kiss and walking away grateful and better for it. 

~*~ 

The countdown on the telly starts at 60 seconds. Niall frantically runs through the house, kissing anyone he sees, stumbling over his feet. He needs to find the lads. He saw Liam earlier speaking with Sophia, and even Zayn is around here somewhere, but right now when he needs them, they’re nowhere to be found. 

He smacks right into Louis as the clock is at 29, 28, 27. 

"Louis, where are the lads?" Niall says. 

"Fuck if I know," Louis says, and he’s just as wobbly and cock-eyed as Niall feels. "Let’s go fucking find them." 

With Louis by his side, Niall feels confident he’ll accomplish his goals. They set off arm-in-arm, though Louis shoves away the people Niall should be kissing on their search. They pick up Liam and Zayn, who are over by the crisps and getting an earful from Bobby about Irish politics.

It’s ten seconds until midnight. Niall’s heart aches wildly, knowing loss for something he’d wished would come true. 

"Hey," Harry says, popping out from behind one of Niall’s house plants. 

"Where have you been?" Niall says. 

"I was hiding because I thought you were playing a game," Harry says. 

The party-goers count down the final seconds of the year. Blow horns and crackers and cheers all ring out, but it’s like always when they’re in their own peaceful bubble. They are all together and they have each other at the beginning of a brand new year. They bow their heads, foreheads all brushing, arms encircling one another with love. Niall is surrounded by his best friends, and he’s gonna kiss them all on the mouth. 

"Happy New Year, boys," Liam says, looking up at each of them. and smiling. 

Niall kisses him, Liam’s punch-sweet lips still working around his words. Zayn quickly shoves Liam off and kisses Niall, hard and wet and happy, both his hands on Niall’s cheeks, slapping Niall’s shoulders when he’s done and spinning him so he can move on to the next one. Niall has just a second to notice Zayn turning to kiss Liam’s cheek when Louis comes at him. They meet halfway, their noses mashing together horribly. Louis doesn’t crack a joke or anything, a sign of sincerity that only comes out of him when he is feeling very real. Louis joins Zayn and Liam in an embrace, all happy and singing. 

And then there’s Harry, standing there like he’s been picked last for the football team, his toes pointed together and his hair in his face. Niall slides his arms around Harry, tucking them into the wrinkled suit jacket he apparently threw on as an afterthought over his barely-buttoned shirt, and kisses him sweetly and most of all. 

"Happy New Year," Niall says. 

"Happy New Year, Niall," Harry says. "And God bless us, everyone."


End file.
